


Headmaster's Wife

by Ciule



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dubious Consent, F/M, First Time, Oral Sex, Pregnancy, Spanking, Time Travel, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-01-26 10:49:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 58,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21372928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ciule/pseuds/Ciule
Summary: He drawled in his deep voice: “This is a Portkey through time. It returns in one hour. Remember, what happens in the past, has already happened.”
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 469
Kudos: 1347





	1. Whirling Through Time

**Author's Note:**

> It's so exciting, beginning a new story! I've been working on this for a while, and it's almost done, except for the final editing of each chapter. I aim to update once a week. Please, tell me what you think! <3

Hermione bit her quill savagely, almost coughing as a few downy feathers came loose. _ She had detention. She, Hermione Granger, model student extraordinaire, had detention. With Professor Snape, and for a very spurious reason too, _if she had to say so herself. 

He had given her detention for ‘not having an effective wand movement' on her Reductor Curse. Sitting in his dungeon office, writing lines, she snorted indignantly. _ This was a new low, even for Snape_. If he was going to give people detention for not having good enough wand movements, the whole school would spend their evenings with him in the dungeons. _ And why would he start with something as asinine as this so late in the year? It was 28 February! If he set so much store by perfect wand movements, he should have emphasized this earlier in the year, not springing it upon her like a nasty surprise when half the school year was gone! _

Her snort had made him lift his head, his own quill stopping its scratching, and she paused in writing her lines, meeting those black, inscrutable eyes. The line between his eyes deepened into a scowl, and his lips thinned as he narrowed his eyes, glowering at her. 

Hermione felt herself swallow, like her mouth had gone mysteriously dry. _ He _ ** _was _ ** _ scary. No matter what she tried to tell the boys about him and his allegiances, however much she tried to reassure Neville, the truth was: Deep down, Professor Snape made her uneasy, increasingly so. _

Then, she realized_: He had been looking at her before. More and more, in those last months, and with a growing intensity too. Now, he was staring like he had never seen her before. Why hadn’t her brain registered this before now? Why had this happened? _

Suddenly, he rose from his chair, stalking towards her with a predatory, terrifying scowl on his face, those black robes swirling around his body. Without meaning too, she leaned back in her chair, like she wanted to get as far away from him as possible. _ Silly rumours flitted through her mind: what Death Eaters supposedly did to young Muggleborn girls at revels, the thick, silent walls of the dungeon chambers, or even him being a vampire, her virgin blood as an expensive Potion ingredient… _

Without warning, with a flick of his wrist, she was Divested of all her clothes, the stone-cold dungeon chill seeping into her exposed skin quickly, even before she managed to gasp. She blinked at her teacher in terrified shock, feeling goosebumps erupting all over her body, the wooden chair underneath her arse the only thing that held a semblance of warmth.

He thrust a blue-glowing ring into her hand, closing her fist around it, before he drawled in his deep voice: “This is a Portkey through time. It returns in one hour. Remember, what happens in the past, has already happened.” 

The room started to spin with a sickening momentum, and momentarily, everything went black. 

Xxxx

She landed hard on her back on something soft and pillowy, her legs bouncing up in the air by the impact. Emitting a squeak of surprise, she shook her head, feeling the disorientation slide off. Bending her knees, she managed to lift her head to take a cautious look around her. Staring up in what appeared to be the forest green canopy of a four-poster bed, she heard a harsh, in-drawn breath. 

Angling her head forward, those same, black eyes that she had last seen in the dungeon office met her own eyes. Except this time, they belonged to a clearly shocked young man with shoulder-length, stringy black hair. Her mouth fell open, as he was also naked, his right hand fisting a large, very erect cock_ . _

Looking crestfallen, he whispered: “Who are you? And why the fuck are you _ here?” _

Blushing fiercely, she realized she lay sprawled in front of him, naked, on her back, her legs spread open. His eyes were roving over her, like she was a gift from above, wandering from her sex, to her breasts, to her face. 

Scrambling up with another squeak, she tried to hide her nakedness, closing her legs and crossing her arms over her breasts. 

Her movements made him snatch the covers, hiding his lower body, though the tented bulge told her he was still as hard as he had been a moment ago. 

“Are you… are you… _ Severus Snape?” _she asked, her voice more shrill than she would have liked. 

He nodded. “Do you know me? I’ve never seen you before.” 

Shaking her head in disbelief, small, hysterical giggles burst out of her mouth. 

He rolled his eyes impatiently, and said sharply, the sting in his voice so very familiar from his classroom: “I can’t see what’s so amusing about this. You fall into my bed, in the middle of the night, and you should feel lucky I didn’t curse you, you silly chit. Who sent you?” 

“You!” she choked out, but as she saw him going for his wand, she raised her hands placatingly. “It’s true,” she said, proffering that ring, the Portkey towards him. “You Divested me of all my clothes, gave me this, telling me it’s a Portkey through time, and now I’m here. In the past. In _ your _ past.” 

He snatched the ring from her, examined it with a furrowed brow. “Where did you get this?” 

“I just told you.” 

“That ring belongs to my mother. What did you do to her?” His glare was accusing. 

She shrugged. “I’ve never met your mother. You, on the other hand, sent me here. What year is this?” 

“1978,” he said automatically, before narrowing his eyes. “You maintain that _ I _sent you back?” 

“Yes.” 

Somewhere between her eyes, she felt a light, strange probing, like a touch, and then she wrung her eyes away from him, growling: “Don’t do that!” 

He smirked at her. “You would too, if you were me. But… I only checked if you were lying to me.” 

“And…?” she said, arching an eyebrow arrogantly at him. 

Grudgingly, he said: “You speak, surprisingly enough, the truth. Or else, someone did a hell of a job of Confounding you.” 

“Hardly,” she scoffed, jutting out her chin. “I’m not that easy to hex.” 

“Except for me, obviously,” he said, a nasty little grin around his mouth. 

She didn’t deign him with an answer to that, and silence fell, as he turned the ring between his fingers. Wisely enough, she took the opportunity to pull his covers over her body, making sure she was sitting on the far side of the bed. He raised an eyebrow at that, but continued to examine the ring. 

“A Portkey through time,” he muttered to himself. 

“It returns in one hour,” she said, “though I’ve never heard of magic like this, except in experimental theory.” 

He nodded, a faraway look in his eyes. “Aye. Louise Grisham’s theory predicts the possibility, but I’ve never heard of anyone trying to make a go of it. The danger...” 

“Exactly,” she replied, almost beaming at him. “Her theory didn’t solve the practical appliance of the spell, but..” 

“... she laid a solid foundation for theoretical displacement of time and space, paving the way for further research,” he continued, giving her a satisfied nod. 

They stared at each other for a moment, both with an incredulous expression. 

Hermione said weakly: “You actually _ read _Grisham’s theory?”

“Stating the obvious, are you?” he snapped, before he grudgingly added, giving her an impressed once-over: “and apparently, so did you.” 

“Yes,” Hermione said slowly. “I’ve never met anyone my age who’ve even heard of Grisham.” 

That brought a small smile on his face. “Me neither,” he said, voice softer than before. “How old are you?” 

“Sixth year, and I’m seventeen.” 

“I’m eighteen, in my seventh year. So, I’m actually your teacher in the future, from what I gathered in your mind?” 

“Yes. You’ve been my Professor since my first year.” 

Mollified, he looked askance at her. “Why did I send you back _ naked, _when I’ve been your teacher since you were a child? That’s just ...sick.” 

She snorted. “I have no idea.” 

“What do I teach?” 

“Defense.” 

He looked pleased, but surprised. Then his interest was picked. “Is that a curse scar on your chest?” 

She looked down, grimacing as she saw the raised, puckered ridge left by Dolohov’s curse in the Ministry. 

“It is,” she confirmed. 

His eyes glittered. “You’ve been in a real fight, not only a duel? What kind of curse was it?” 

“A very real fight. It was last year, and I was lucky to get out alive. This is the mark of the Heartburn Curse.” 

He blew a low, impressed whistle. “And how come you’re still alive? By all accounts, you should be dead, your intestines, heart and lungs consumed by the acidic in your stomach!” 

She was surprised, realizing that he actually knew this curse. _ Everyone, including Headmaster Dumbledore, had told her this was a very obscure, Dark curse_. _ He had to be well-read, indeed. _

Shrugging, like this was a trifling matter to her, she said nonchalantly: “I managed to Silence the wizard casting it, so he hit me with a weaker, wordless version of the curse.” 

“Impressive,” he muttered, giving her an appraising glance. 

She reddened, feeling like her pretense had worked too well. “It was all I could do at the moment.” Self-consciously, she added: “The scar looks looks ugly, it’s … bad.” 

“I think you look just fine,” he said, locking his eyes on her chest. “I wonder if I’ll remember this in the future?” 

Hermione’s eyes widened. “You told me, as you sent me back, to remember what happens in the past, has already happened.” 

He swallowed. “I can’t believe it. I sent you back, naked, a girl who knows experimental, theoretical magic, into my bed, just as I was…” he blushed, his eyes glancing at her naked shoulders, the top of her breasts barely covered. The bulge in his bed clothes reappeared with an alarming rapidity, tenting the fabric. “Does this mean…” 

She felt heat travel over her body. _ Maybe it did. Maybe in 1997, she had, already, had sex with Severus Snape, in his bed, in the distant past. Maybe he had known it all along. Maybe her scary, but brilliant teacher had known her before she started at Hogwarts. _

“I don’t know,” she whispered, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue. 

His stare became intense, zooming in on her mouth, and she couldn’t help it, her lips parted a little, and her breath came faster. 

Slowly, like she was a wild animal, he moved towards her, eyes locked on her mouth, before he clumsily grasped her neck, pulling her to him. His mouth crashed down on hers, and for a moment, she thought about struggling, but then her body decided to disregard that altogether, instead she opened her mouth to his roving tongue, panting into his mouth as she clutched his shoulders. 

His kiss was inexperienced at the best, a little too wet, too sloppy, too open-mouthed, but his eagerness made up for that. Hermione felt her body start to tingle, like there was a heavy warmth located in her breasts and between her legs. Her mind, however, worked furiously to make sense of the fact that she was kissing Professor Snape - and enjoying it. _ No, he wasn’t her Professor yet, he was just a young man, a little older than herself, and obviously very eager to explore her body. And it felt good. _

His hand was sliding down to her shoulders, brushing her hair away, his mouth following, nuzzling her neck, before his hands dragged down to the covers she still clutched in front of her chest. He tugged at the bedding, and she held onto it, giving a small show of resistance, before he was victorious, baring her breasts. 

The gasp he made was very satisfying, though, and the dazed look in his eyes was more than flattering. He reached out a shaky hand, touching her right breast gently, fingering the nipple, hefting her breast into his large palm, like he was testing its weight. 

Hermione realized, he was as tall as he would be in the future, though significantly thinner. _ Wiry, that was the word to describe him, _ she thought whimsically, as she arched her chest into his hand, giving off a soft moan that made him grunt, black eyes incredulous: “You _ like _it?” 

She blushed slightly, whispering: “Yes. It feels good to me.” 

At that, his hands almost became frantic, pinching, rolling and stroking her nipples, before he looked at her nervously, wrenching the covers off to expose her body fully. 

He swallowed deeply as he stared at her sex again, and Hermione felt a deep tremor inside her belly by seeing the evident desire in his eyes. His lap was still covered by the bedding, though he was crouching almost on all fours over her. 

Eyes asking for leave, he moved one hand towards her crotch, and Hermione felt moisture pooling between her legs, slicking her sex in anticipation. Finding his answer in her small nod, he buried his hand between her legs, dragging his fingers through her slit. With a small growl, he panted: “You’re wet! For me?” 

“Yes,” she mumbled, her rational mind screaming: _You can’t admit to something like that to Professor Snape! He’ll destroy you!_ _Shut up, _another part of her muttered callously_. This has already happened, and he has never mentioned it. _

Taking hold of his hand, she guided him to her clit, saying: “That’s it. That little nub there, it feels best when you pet me there. Yes, right there.” 

“Aye,” he said hoarsely, eyes locked on the apex of her thighs, and then he used his other hand to part her legs more. His Adam’s apple bobbed, as he took in the sight of her dripping sex, and then he moved forward, pinning her to the bed. 

She yelped, as she landed on her back again, this time with him between her legs, and she felt his whole body tremble with need. His rock-hard erection brushed her stomach, before he pulled back a little, fumbling between them. With a feeling of shock, she realized he was guiding his cock to her opening. Before she could say a word, to utter a protest, he thrust into her, hard, and she grunted in pained surprise. 

He was stretching her, filling her up, and it was slightly painful, as he worked his way inside her with increasingly harder thrusts. 

“Gods, oh, this feels so good, you’re so tight around my cock, so wet,” he mumbled, eyes closed and mouth half open, before he shuddered, twitching inside her once - twice, and she felt a rush of hot wetness inside her. 

He buried his head into her shoulder, gasping, but she only managed to blink. _ How would she ever be able to face the Professor Snape of her future? _

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hold back,” he muttered after a short while. “I know, it shouldn’t be this rushed.” 

“It’s ok,” she said weakly, patting his shoulder awkwardly, because she didn’t know what else to do, feeling like her world had been turned on its head. _ Professor Snape had, in all likelihood, lost his virginity to her, and in the process, he had taken hers too. _

_ Not that her virginity was especially important to her, but she had never imagined something like this to happen. She had believed it would happen in a drunken fumble, with a boy her own age, not by Time-travelling to her Professor’s bed. _

He rolled over, lying on his back, breathing heavily, before he pulled her to his chest, tucking her into his arms. She rested her head on his thin frame, feeling his galloping heartbeat slow, and her thighs became wet and sticky by his semen trickling out of her. 

Then his hands became exploratory again, and he mumbled: “I’ll make it good for you too. You deserve that.” 

Her breath hitched, as his hands sought her breasts again, playing with them, before moving down to her hips and arse. Lifting one of her legs across his thighs, he gained access to her sex again, fingers trailing through the sticky mess he had left there. 

“In the front, right here?” he asked, fingering her nub. 

“Yes, that’s the spot,” she murmured, feeling heat gathering in her belly again. _ Somehow, impossibly, she found that the thought of her future Professor doing this to her was turning her on. It was sort of kinky, having this young version of her stern teacher fingering her private parts. _

“You feel so good,” he groaned, and she panted a little, feeling her belly clench. Her nub was tingling, and there was the familiar pressure building up, and she moaned. Her response made him catch his breath, and suddenly, she felt his cock nudge her stomach again, twitching slightly against her. 

She looked down, seeing the red, bulbous head bobbing against her, the thick stem beyond widening out towards the base, nestling in coarse, black hairs. A surge of want, guilt and giddiness rushed through her: _ I’ll be thinking of this in the next Defense class! _

“You’re ready for more?” she asked breathlessly. 

He nodded, half ashamed, half proud. Guiding his cock to her entrance again, he slid the tip inside. The stretch was present this time too, but the slick wetness from his earlier release and her own fluids smoothed his way inside, and she watched his cock disappear between her legs with fascination. 

He growled a little, incoherently, and started thrusting into her again, fingers still on her nub. Feeling her sex tingle, the need building up, she gasped, clenching her muscles around him, making him groan, thrusting harder. 

“Move your fingers, harder,” she whispered, and he obeyed, flicking his fingers over her clit, making her throb, the simmering fire in her belly suddenly erupt into roaring flames as she came, squirming on his cock, convulsing around him, clenching and trembling. 

Giving off little cries, she heard herself moan: “Professor Snape!” 

He came inside her again, eyes wide open, his cock jerking in her channel, seed spurting with his drawn-out groans. 

Clutching each other, she laid her head against his chest again, panting. Then he chuckled slowly. “Professor Snape, is it? Now, my life’s ambition is to become a Defense teacher. Then, I’ll know this will be happening.” 

Hermione gave an uneasy smile. _ She knew, he had wanted the Defense position for years. Surely, this couldn’t be the reason for him coveting the position… _

He continued: “I don’t even know your name…” Suddenly, he yanked her up, pointing at the blue glow shining from his pillow. “There, your Portkey is ready!” 

She gave him a panicked look, before diving forward to catch it at the last moment. 

“I’ll see you in class, girl!” she heard him shout after her, the sound fading out as she spun into time and space once more. 

Xxxx

She fell into her chair with an audible smack, her arse cheeks smarting with pain, once again staring up into the eyes of Professor Snape. 

Blushing fiercely, she panicked, as she discovered she was still naked, her thighs still streaked with his drying semen. 

“_ Accio _ clothes!” she shouted, resulting in her clothing landing in a balled heap in her lap. Pulling her robe around her, she scrambled to dress herself without him seeing more of her skin than necessary. 

From the corner of her eye, she could see his lips twitch, like he wanted to laugh. _ Bastard, _she thought, and she scowled as she saw him discreetly peeking into the opening of her robe. 

When she had dressed herself, he handed her a small phial, a pink potion inside, with swirling, darker colours mixed into it. She took it, still avoiding his gaze, and her voice came out as a croak when she asked: “What’s this, sir?” 

His voice was deeper than his younger counterpart, and much more self-assured and calm. “A potion to ensure there are no … unwanted ... results.” 

_ A Contraceptive Potion. Of course he would make something like this, knowing what would happen. _She felt herself flush, again, but snatched the phial from his hands, downing it quickly. 

“Can I go, sir?” 

At that, she heard him actually chuckle. _ Strange, she had never heard Snape laugh in all those years. _“You may, Miss Granger. I think you’ve done enough to deserve the rest of your evening off.” 

Giving him a mortified look, she fled the classroom, slamming the door behind her. 


	2. Singled Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Very devious, Miss Granger,” a deep, silky voice said by her ear. “Still, hexing a fellow student is illegal, even when the intent is good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful comments! <3

Harry clutched her hand, as they stood by Ron’s bed in the Infirmary. The prone body in the bed was pale and sweaty, reacting strongly to the poisoned mead from Slughorn’s office. Leaning into her friend, she sobbed quietly, regretting bitterly the falling out she and Ron had experienced over the past couple of months. _ What if Ron had died? What if they had never made up? She would have been heartbroken to lose his friendship forever, in such a brutal, meaningless way. _

Hermione was uncomfortably aware that Professor Snape stood a few metres away, gravely discussing something with Madam Pomfrey. Her glance wandered from Ron to him, like her eyes was dragged by a magnet, and she felt as if her face was just as red as Ron was pale. 

_ She had shagged her Professor last night, or rather, the young him, and now, she was standing by the bedside of the boy she had not-so-secretly pined for. That had to stop, at least, because she just couldn’t be that kind of girl that were in love with someone and shagged someone else. At least, she didn’t _ ** _want _ ** _ to be like that. This was it, her infatuation with Ron would have to go, but she would do whatever it took to stay as his friend. _Her eyes slid over to her Professor again, and suddenly, his black glare met her own. Her breath caught, and there was an infinitesimal tug at the corner of his lips. 

The infirmary doors crashed open, and Lavender rushed in, completely ignoring Madam Pomfrey’s frown. The girl stopped short in front of the bed, saying angrily as she pointed at Hermione: “What’s SHE doing here?” 

Ron’s voice was almost a croak: “Hermione… Hermione…” 

Professor Snape threw her a disapproving, scornful look, and she swallowed. “Lavender, I’m his friend. Nothing more. You’re his girlfriend. I don’t want that to change.” 

Harry threw her a surprised look, and Ron seemed to be a little confused, blinking at her from the bed. She shrugged, gently retracting her hand from Harry’s grasp. Briefly meeting her Professor’s eyes again, she saw a tiny smirk of satisfaction on his face. 

Her irate dorm mate huffed, shaking her long, brown, glossy hair, before stepping forward to the bedside, patting Ron’s hand. “Alright. Then you’ll understand that a girl need some time _ alone _ with her boyfriend. How _ are _you, Won-Won?” The simpering look on her face made Harry roll his eyes. 

Hermione just nodded, and turned to Ron, saying with a forced cheer: “I’ll see you around, Ron!” 

Harry was left behind, staring after her in bewilderment.

She was almost by the doors when she heard rapid steps behind her, and then there was a voice close by her ear. “Miss Granger.” His voice was as silky as ever, and she shivered slightly. 

Stopping, she turned to him, craning her neck to look up into his face. “Yes, Professor?” she said politely, though her face felt like she was on fire. 

“I wondered....” he said, eyes moving to her collarbone, where the upper part of her scar from Dolohov’s curse peeked out from her shirt, “... is the scar tissue bothering you?” 

Hermione blinked in surprise. “Sometimes, sir,” she replied truthfully. “It might chafe against clothes, at times, and in cold weather…” 

“May I?” he said, his voice a low whisper, as he reached out his hand, trailing it over her scar with a featherlight touch. 

Her pulse raced, her mouth dry, and as his hand stopped at the first button of her shirt, she raised a trembling hand to undo the first, then the second button, baring her the upper part of chest to him. His hand moved down, gently stroking the ridged tissue, moving underneath her shirt, but stopping when his fingers met the fabric of her bra. 

The tension in her body was almost unbearable. She felt like a coiled spring, forcing herself to breathe normally, though by all rights, her chest should have been heaving. Her pulse thrummed madly at her pulse point, and she was sure he could see her veins beating at her neck and throat. 

His next words were almost hoarse, as he said: “I’ve developed a potion to reduce heavy scar tissue. If you would like to try it…” 

She nodded, not trusting her voice. 

His magic flared out, like a sharp singe across the room, and a bottle came hurtling out of a cabinet at the back, smacking into his outstretched hand. 

It was an impressive demonstration of non-verbal casting, and against her will, she felt a little impressed. _ This was how it should be. She would just have to work harder to get to his level. Now, she had rudimentary control, but it wasn’t precise and controlled, like this. And she wanted that ability, like she wanted to know everything. _

He uncorked the bottle, slapping a little of the thick, creamy potion in his hand, and applied it to her scar, massaging the scar tissue with circular movements. The scar tingled, and she would be willing to swear, it writhed on her skin. 

“Like this, for a week, and the ridge should be significantly reduced,” he said, shoving the bottle into her hand. 

“Than you, sir,” she said, her voice coming out much more breathy and shrill than she had wanted to. 

“No matter, girl, this was just something I have been working on the past year,” he said gruffly, eyes still lingering on her chest, an almost hungry look in his eyes. Involuntarily, she felt her nipples peak, and she suddenly got a vivid impression. _ When she had left his classroom last night, she was quite sure her Professor had locked the doors and wanked to the memory of her in his bed. She could almost envision how he would have closed his eyes in ecstasy, his face into a grimace of passion as he fisted his weeping cock. _

Her mouth open in shock, she licked her dry lips, feeling a strong, hot tremor moving through her belly, as her Professor watched the darting movements of her tongue. 

Backing off, she turned around and fled to her dormitory. 

Well ensconced in her bed, she closed the curtains around her four-poster, and set up a Silencing spell for good measure. She was still panting after her run through the castle, but the thrumming in her belly was still insistent. _ That image, of her stern Professor taking himself in hand… _ Much to her surprise, Hermione could feel her knickers were soaked. However, she had a rational explanation. _ It wasn’t like she was turned on by her Professor, this was just an anomaly, brought on by last night. She had better go with it, to get it out of her system. _

Laying back on her pillows, she pulled her skirt up and snaked a hand inside her knickers, finding her folds slick and wet. Rubbing circles at her nub with one hand, she imagined what they had done last night in the past, as her other hand gently pinched a nipple. But the thought of her Professor wanking was interrupting her reminiscence.

_ In the classroom, after she had left, he would have torn his fly open, fishing out his stiff cock, tugging at it with his large hand, smearing precum over the red, weeping head. _Her breathing picked up, and she rubbed her clit faster, dipping her fingers down into her opening to gather more moisture. Small tremors were starting in her belly, her clit throbbing in need, and she moaned, feeling desire mount as she moved her fingers through her slickness. 

_ He would be breathing heavily too, his hand moving faster up and down his cock, squeezing the head, tapping on the spot underneath it, groaning as more, shining droplets dribbled from the slit. Sitting with his legs apart, he would lean his head back, right hand now moving at a furious pace, blurring as his cock swelled, the head reaching a deep red colour, before it erupted with bursts of white liquid, cock jerking in his hands as he groaned her name: “Hermione…” _

She came with a shout, belly clenching and trembling, convulsing with spasms of pleasure, legs twitching as her own hand rubbed harder on her clit through her orgasm. As she slowly relaxed, coming down from her peak, she felt embarrassed. _Her shout of ecstasy_ _had been ‘Professor Snape.’ Again. _Suddenly, she was very relieved she had put up a Silencing shield around her bed.

Xxxx

Her friendship with Ron was finally on the mend, and to their great relief, Lavender had stopped calling him ‘Won-Won’. 

“Thank the gods,” Harry muttered to her, “I would have been forced to Avada her, if I had had to listen to ‘Won-Won’ the rest of the school year. Rather Azkaban for life, than _ that_.” 

Scandalized, she swatted him, saying: “Harry! You can’t say such things!” But then she had to laugh, because she agreed wholeheartedly, realizing with a small twinge of her heart that her former fascination with Ron was gone after her stint into the past. _ Now, he was just her friend, and she was glad they had made up. _

Ron seemed happy too, cuddling into Lavender each night in the Common Room, but still being able to talk to her and Harry. 

Defense, however, became a nightmare. First, she felt like she was constantly blushing, remembering what Professor Snape had done to her in the past. Secondly, it seemed like Professor Snape enjoyed her embarrassment, frequently singling her out to answer questions, and downright directing her wand movements during practise, under the pretext of “You wouldn’t want even _ more _detentions, now would you, Miss Granger?” 

“No, sir,” she mumbled, beetroot red in her face, not wanting to face his smug expression. 

From the other end of the classroom, Draco Malfoy sniggered, hissing at her: “That detention must have been something, Granger. He really showed you why Mudbloods cannot do real magic, did he? You see, Granger, casting spells are different from regurgitating a textbook, in case _ you _hadn’t discovered that yet.” 

She scowled at him, but Ron shouted: “Hey, Malfoy, will you shut your filthy mouth!” 

And then, Snape bore down on Ron in full wrath, and she closed her eyes, wishing she was far away from the ensuing pandemonium, ending with Ron having a week worth of detention with Mr. Filch. Oddly enough, Malfoy got detention too, but at least, she walked away scot free. 

_ She most certainly did not want any more detentions, though late at night, in her bed, she wondered what that could be like, what could happen. Far too often, she frigged herself into guilt-ridden, shuddering orgasms, reminiscing about what had happened in 1978. She couldn’t help it, she kept wondering what the adult Professor Snape would be like as a lover. Would he be so enthusiastic as his younger counterpart? No, he’d probably be more in control, but she was willing to bet that all that enthusiasm had morphed into intensity and passion, more in line with how he was today. _In class, flashes of desire moved through her, as she gave him covert glances from under her eyelashes. 

Soon, she also noted that Professor Snape touched her far more often than before. It couldn’t be just to embarrass her, though she was at a loss to explain his actions. He touched her in passing, moving her out of his way by laying a firm hand on her shoulder, even her waist, and he stood much too close to her when she was reading or writing assignments in class, towering over her. _ It felt like his stare made the skin in the back of her neck tingle, and her stomach fluttered with a shameful pleasure, making her wish he’d touch her more - again. _

On the other hand, he did touch her in a more professional capacity too, by adjusting her wand movements with an alarming frequency. It felt unfair, because really, she was _ good_, compared to her class mates. 

He usually stood right behind her, almost enfolding her in his arms, close enough that she could feel his chest at her back, making hot tendrils curling in her belly, as he directed her wand hand. She had absolutely no idea what she should make of his behaviour, but she was sure about one thing: _ She was now crushing on Professor Snape, at least sexually. And if that wasn’t the most foolish thing a girl could do, then she was a toadstool. Such a thing was impossible, and how he’d laugh at her. _Grudgingly, she also realized he was actually putting in an effort in teaching her, showing her how to cast more effectively and more precisely, and her casting was improving. 

One afternoon, when he was handing out essays amongst the usual groans and mutterings as people discovered their marks, he stopped at her chair, withholding her rolled-up essay for a moment, before releasing it into her hand.

“Miss Granger,” he said, a frown plastered firmly on his face, “you will hand in an extra essay for next week, as befitting the mark you received on this one. I want three feet on wandless casting of the Protego Charm, in all its forms, and I expect that _ this time _, you deliver your very best.” 

His voice was clipped, but loud, and she just knew, everyone was listening in. Mortified, she wondered how she could have failed so miserably on her essay, for him to give her an extra, remedial essay. _ After all, such things only happened to Neville. _

Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson were sniggering, whispering behind their hands, and she felt her face burn. Slowly, she rolled out her parchment, but her heart almost stopped as she saw her mark. 

As they walked from Defense, passing through the halls on their way to greenhouse number three for their Herbology lesson, Ron fumed on her behalf: “The greasy git is really after you, ‘Mione. He’s been picking on you for weeks, now. And now this? Giving you, of all people, a remedial essay? It’s nonsense, that’s what it is!” 

Harry chimed in: “He’s an absolute arse. Don’t take it personally, you know how he is. If one essay isn’t up to scratch, it’s not the end of the world, you know.” 

Ron shook his head. “No, it’s different. Harry, haven’t you seen how he’s always correcting her in class? It’s never good enough, though she’s one of the best in our year. I think it’s because he’s a …” his voice lowered, “a Death Eater, with all those opinions they stick with. That’s why he’s harassing Hermione.” 

“No,” she said slowly, “that’s not it. I’ve become much better at casting, after he started to pay attention to me.” 

“Please,” Harry sputtered, “stop trying to see the good in him at all times, he just gave you a remedial essay, for Merlin’s sake! Can’t you just admit he’s a total git, for once?” 

Shaking her head, she stopped, pulling her essay out of her bag. “Look at this,” she said quietly. 

He boys leaned in, both of them blinking. “That’s…” Ron said weakly, and Harry finished the sentence: “... impossible.” 

“I know,” she said. “He never gives O’s, everyone knows it. But this is an O. And, I think the essay is for extra credit.” 

Harry shook his head. “I just can’t… he’s still a git, isn’t he? Making it seem like you did badly, making sure _ his _lot, the Slytherins, laughed at you.” 

Ron nodded, but then he smiled mischievously. “He sure pays you attention, ‘Mione. Maybe ol’ Snape is crushing on you? Giving you an O, extra tuition in class…. And you seem to like him well enough, always defending him.” 

She gave off a small, horrified squeak, but Harry almost fell down the stairs laughing, saying: “Don’t scare her like that, Ron. Look at her, she’s white as a sheet!” 

On the inside, she felt like she was blubbering in panicked excitement. _ Oh please, him being interested … that would be… exactly, what would it be like? _

Xxxx

“One, two, three…” McGonagall’s stern voice boomed out in the Great Hall, where the sixth and seventh years were gathered for a dancing lesson. Most of the boys were yawning, looking like they’d rather be anywhere but here, but several girls had taken the effort to dress up, even putting on make-up. Personally, Hermione thought that to be excessive. After all, it was just after breakfast on a Sunday morning. 

The chairs and tables had been moved to the back, creating a large space on the floor for the students to dance. Everyone had partnered up, some more eager than others, while others glared at rivals, that had been luckier or quicker to reach their target. 

Hermione was stumbling along with Neville, feeling even clumsier than she’d anticipated, but it was _ fine _ . They were both laughing at their inherent lack of dancing skills, and she knew: _ With someone else, she might have felt stupid. Neville at least, was just as bad as herself. _

“Ouch! You’re stepping on my toes!” she whimpered, but the pain was quickly smothered by a giggle as she fell over Neville, due to losing her balance. 

“Gods, you’re heavier than you look,” Neville puffed, red-faced as he supported her whole weight, but he had a smile on his face and a wink in his eyes that made the comment seem like just good fun. 

Stopping for a moment to breathe, they watched the others. Harry was swirling Padma with surprising skill, Ginny being too young to attend, while Ron was bumbling along with Lavender. Their lack of grace was more than outweighed by the adoring glances they cast at each other. 

The Head of Houses were prowling the floor, looking to correct stances and positions, McGonagall looking as uptight as ever, Flitwick smiling and laughing with Sprout, while Snape wore his customary scowl, snapping and snarling to the unlucky students that caught his ire. 

“Merlin, one would think you grew up in a barn, Mr. Malfoy. Didn’t Lucius show you the ball room while you grew up, or even tell you _ what goes on _at Malfoy Manor, from time to time?” Snape drawled, his glare making the tall blonde duck slightly, while Pansy Parkinsom simpered at her dance partner. 

“I’ll do better, sir,” Draco said, his voice a curious mixture of bitter intensity. “I can do this.” 

His words made Snape curl his lip in disdain, before he said curtly: “Make sure you can deliver on that promise, Draco.” 

Hermione furrowed her brow. _ It was almost like they were talking about something else entirely. _

Shaking her head - _ thinking about Snape was always a bad idea - _she looked around the room to clear her head. The truth was, her fellow students were rather bad at dancing. 

“I wonder why they think we need this lesson in school. Shouldn’t people learn this on their own, if they want to dance? It’s not like it’ll be a part of our NEWTs,” Hermione whispered to Neville. When he didn’t answer, she almost bumped his arm to get his attention. Then she discovered his eyes locked on Hannah Abbott, a small smile around his mouth, but his expression was one of longing. Hannah had dressed up in a lovely, yellow gown, her blonde hair set in an elaborate bun, with ringlets escaping around her face. 

_ Oh well. She might be pleased to be dancing with Neville, but it was obvious: He wanted to dance with Hannah. Maybe she could do Neville a favour... _

Casting a furtive glance at the teachers, checking if they were occupied, she cast a small hex on Hannah’s dancing partner, the pompous Ernie MacMillan. He made a muffled shout, wincing as he hopped on one foot, before excusing himself to go check on the sudden injury. He grumbled as he limped off the dance floor, heading for one of the chairs at the back. 

Hannah was left alone in the middle of the throng, with an uncertain look to her face, before her shoulders slumped in defeat, and she began slowly moving away from the dance floor. 

“Go,” Hermione whispered to Neville, “go and dance with Hannah. I need a rest anyway.” 

Neville blinked. “Are you sure? Because I wouldn’t leave you hanging, and..” 

“Stop being such a gentleman,” she hissed. “Go to Hannah!” 

“If you’re absolutely sure…” he said, and then she gave him a small shove at the back to get him moving. 

Seeing Hannah looking pleased and surprised as he approached, Hermione smiled. _ This was good. Neville should be with the girl he fancied. Hopefully, he wouldn’t trample her feet too much. _

“Very devious, Miss Granger,” a deep, silky voice said by her ear. “Still, hexing a fellow student is illegal, even when the intent is good.” 

Swirling around, she gasped. Severus Snape was staring down at her, an unreadable look on his face. Stuttering, she said: “Sir, I … I …” 

He arched an eyebrow, and she got the distinct impression, for once he was _ amused, _not annoyed. 

“Never mind, Miss Granger. You are now left without a partner. Shall we?” 

He held out his arm, and she gaped in surprise. “Sir…?” _ It definitely looked like he meant to dance with her, but that had to be a misunderstanding. Snape would never deign to dance with a student, she was sure. _

Cocking his head, he said: “Are you going to stand me up in the middle of the dancefloor, Miss Granger? My, would you be this rude? Mind, from what I could see, you do need to practice.” 

Blinking, she whispered: “No, sir, I mean yes.” 

Taking her arm, he tugged her into his body, far closer than she had ever danced with Neville and Victor, and his arm came around her waist, holding her firmly. She barely reached his shoulders, and she fixed her eyes on the unrelenting black of his frock coat. _ The other students would be laughing. Laughing at the witch who had the enormous misfortune to be singled out to dance with Hogwarts’ meanest teacher. They would all think she was frightened, humiliated, singled out by Snape out of malice, but ... she was not. _

The fabric of his coat was softer than it looked, and surprisingly, she saw the long row of black buttons were carved. The pattern was a snake entwined with a lioness, and she wondered why the Slytherin Head would sport such a frivolous symbol of Gryffindor dalliance. _ Then again, no one would see it, unless they were inches away from his chest. _ She supposed_, not many came this close to him, _and a blush rose in her cheeks. 

Deftly, he moved them into smooth motions, and she realized: _ Dancing was easy, when the man knew how to lead*. _ Her clumsy feet were now light and fleet, and her body was almost weightless, floating, flying through the Great Hall. The sensation was liberating, and suddenly, she felt happy and carefree. Breathing in the scent of him sent a jolt through her lower belly, a shot of heat curling in her abdomen, and she was acutely reminded of their shared experience. Her own lecherous thoughts of him came creeping to the forefront of her mind - being naked, touching, having him inside herself... Almost intoxicated, she took a deep breath. _ Spicy, leather, parchment, freshly mowed grass - the scent was all him, and she felt almost drunk with the sensation. _

“It’s customary to look your dance partner in the eyes from time to time, Miss Granger,” he said, his voice rougher than usual. His arm twitched, pulling her even closer to his chest. 

Blushing fiercely, she glanced quickly up at him. There was no way she wanted him, an accomplished Legilimens, to have access to her thoughts about him. _ Maybe that was what he wanted, though. _ For a short moment, she was drowning in his black eyes, his expression inscrutable, but hovering on the cusp of _ something. _

The music stopped abruptly. Professor Snape released her, taking a step back, his scowl in place. However, the words coming out of his mouth was not the usual sarcastic snark. “You dance far better than I would have thought from seeing you with Mr. Longbottom. Maybe you just needed the right partner.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *In my life, I’ve had the fortune to dance with two men who were really, really good dancers, and I mean really. I’m not a good dancer myself, but when dancing with those two, I felt like a queen. That being said: This is strictly about dancing, and I’m not claiming men are better leaders in general. ;-)


	3. Trouble Brewing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His black eyes softened slightly, and suddenly, she realized, he was nervous too.  
“Why now,” he countered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The talk. Yes, I mean the TALK. You read the tags, you know what's coming. ;-)

Late in April, almost seven weeks after what she privately referred to as _ the incident_, she started to notice that her body felt odd. She was often a little queasy, and almost always tired. It happened especially when she exerted herself, like when she duelled in Defense, and the fumes in Potions made her dizzy and vaguely queasy. 

One morning early in May, at breakfast, she almost turned away at the doors of the Great Hall, the smell of bacon and eggs making her acutely nauseous. Forcing herself forward, she sat down at the Gryffindor table, nibbling on a dry toast, washing it down with a cup of tea, bile in her throat as she watched the others eat with gusto, cringing as egg yolk splattered when speared by forks and bacon grease coagulating on the plates. 

“You don’t look so well,” Ron noted, as he shuffled eggs and sausages into his mouth. 

“Feeling a bit peaky,” she said curtly, forcing her mind away from what may be the cause to this. 

In Potions, she had to ask Slughorn to go outside for a moment, the fumes of the Ageing Potion making her pale, sweaty and green around the gills. Ron patted her reassuringly on her back, saying: “It’s probably something you ate. Just get it up and out, and you’ll be good in no time.” 

Defense was the last class of the day, and it was just her luck that Professor Snape had planned a practical lesson. After a trying duel in Defense, partnering with Harry, she had to sit down, feeling as if the room spun around its axis, as she bent her neck between her knees, bile rising in her throat again. Closing her eyes, she knew, she couldn’t avoid acknowledging what her body was telling her anymore, and she felt panicky, desperately confused and insecure. 

Harry sat down in front of her, touching her arm, saying: “Hermione? Are you there? Have you fainted, or..? You look like you’re sick!”

In moments, the Professor came billowing towards them, and she pressed her eyes shut in defeat, futilely trying to hold back her tears.

Professor Snape shooed Harry away, before he barked: “Miss Granger! You’ll go to see Madam Pomprey immediately! This is a classroom, not the Infirmary!” Lowering his voice, he muttered: “You should know better, girl. Go and get this sorted with Madam Pomfrey, do you hear me? You don’t need to...” He stopped abruptly. 

Cringing slightly as she rose, she swallowed down her nausea, croaking out: “Yes, sir,” keeping her head down. _ She couldn’t meet his eyes. Did he suspect it? Fuck, had he known all along? What did he mean, saying for her to get “this sorted?” _

She didn’t go to the Hospital Wing, instead, she fled to her dorm. _ Dizzy, nauseous, tired, it all added up. But how could she be? He had given her a Contraceptive Potion himself, and she had experienced a small bleeding a week after the incident. Her periods had always been unpredictable, but still… _

Hermione knew the proper spell for finding out, having learned it in fifth year, in the most cringeworthy lesson of all times. Even a year after the lesson, the thought of McGonagall’s pinched expression, the old witch clearly even more uncomfortable than her adolescent charges, made her feel embarrassed. Come to think of it, Snape would have performed the same lesson for his Slytherins. The thought made her snigger, before she sobered. _ You’re stalling, Hermione. Just do it. _

Taking a deep breath, she cast the spell. Blinking at the results, she wasn’t surprised at all. Her first reaction was anger. _ How could he, of all people, brew a faulty Contraceptive Potion? He was a Master Potioneer, and the damned potion was an easy one! _

Then she realized, he had probably given her something else. Trying to recall the potion he had given her, she vaguely remembered a sweet, tangy taste that had prickled slightly on her tongue. All her textbooks described the Contraceptive as sweet, which fit, and it certainly had been pink-coloured, just like the textbook description. Though, at the time, she had been much too flustered to really put too much thought into what Snape had given her, or if he might have brewed it wrong. 

Sighing, she pulled out her cauldron, starting a small, magical fire in the bathroom. The prenatal potions to avoid sickness and giving vitamins and such for the baby was fairly easy to brew, with standard ingredients only. With luck, it would be done well before any of her own dorm mates had finished their classes for the day. 

  
  


Xxxx

She debated with herself for over two weeks, before she decided to call on him. At this point, she deeply wished her parents still was in the country. 

_ It was her own doing, she knew that very well. _ During Christmas break, she had Obliviated them, making them pack up their belongings and move to Australia. The way the war was going, she didn’t dare to let them stay in Britain, going on with their normal life any longer. More and more Muggleborns and their parents were attacked each day, and Hermione just couldn’t - _ wouldn’t _\- risk her sweet parents like that, being all too aware that she herself was a high profile target for the Death Eaters. Now, they were hopefully happy with their new life, never knowing they had a daughter that missed them terribly. 

_ Though it had been so very painful, she had gone through with it alone, only telling Ron and Harry afterwards. Still, she felt a hollow ache in her chest when she thought about them. _

Huffing, she rather thought they would have given her a piece of their mind for getting pregnant while still in school, and by a teacher, no less, but she needed them, all the same. She wanted her father to tell her everything would be alright, and her mother to hug her, both of them reassuring her that she wouldn’t have to go through this alone, that they’d be there for her every step of the way, helping her. _ Clearly, that wasn’t about to happen. _

Steeling herself, she knocked on his office door, just after dinner on a Thursday night, starting as the door swung silently open. 

The office was as dim and murky as ever, with tentacled things swaying softly in their jars, green witch-light simmering from within. 

“Hello, Professor,” she said nervously. 

His head snapped up, and he sprang up from his chair, drawing a hand through his greasy, black hair, beckoning her forward with the other. As she drew closer, he Transfigured the rickety, uncomfortable chair reserved for his visitors into a plush, comfortable wing back chair. 

Her eyebrows rose, as she very clearly remembered her earlier visits to his office. Being the swot she was, she _ had _cornered him during his office hours from time to time, and he had been visibly irritated at the interruption. She supposed, not many students dared to ask Severus Snape questions on their free time. He had been barking at her, barely given her leave to sit on the spindly chair on some occasions, and now, she felt like he made a surprising effort to welcome her. 

As she sat down, he did as well, leaning forward, steepling his hands on his cluttered desk.”I’ve been waiting for you to visit, Miss Granger. You must have … questions.” 

She nodded. “Why?” she asked, drilling her eyes into his. 

His black eyes softened slightly, and suddenly, she realized, he was nervous too. 

“Why _ now_,” he countered. 

Hermione took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.” 

Her suspicions were confirmed, as he didn’t look surprised. “I suspected as much,” he muttered. 

“Why?” she repeated, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks. _ He might think it was an everyday occurrence to impregnate his students, but she certainly didn’t think so. _

“Long story, Miss Granger. I trust you remember Grisham’s theory?” His mouth quirked, and she blushed even more, remembering how she had felt a keen rapport with his younger self, as they talked about the Time-travelling theory. 

“Well, for a long time, I hadn’t solved the how - yet. Just after Christmas, I got another visit from the future. This time, from myself.” 

She gasped. “That’s so dangerous!” 

“Indeed, Miss Granger,” he said gravely. “However, I had begun to expect something like that. I knew how old you were, we were rapidly approaching the end of February, and I still had no idea on how to send you back. You might say, I was prepared for such a thing to occur. Now, I know the theory, as my future self explained it.” 

Her cheeks glowing with excitement, she almost shrieked: “Causal loop! You’ve proved it!” 

“Exactly, I knew it, because the future me told me - and that’s why my future self knew it. It happened because it had happened,” he said, and this time, it was a quick, full-blown smile on his face before he muttered: “I knew you would be able to appreciate just that.” 

“However, my future self also instructed me to feed you a fertility potion. You can easily see, I had reason to suspect you might become pregnant.” 

“Again, I have to ask, sir. Why ensure the pregnancy?” 

He shrugged. “The future me wouldn’t tell. Still, Miss Granger, I want you to know, I’ll do the right thing by you.” 

Her eyes widened in shock. “You mean to…” _ She had wondered about his comment on getting it sorted, but clearly, getting rid of the baby had never been his intention. _

“Propose, yes. If you will have me, Miss Granger, I’ll marry you, to give our child my name, and to extend whatever protection I can to you and our child.” 

The stilted, formal words swam around in her brain, confusion making her brain feel foggy. _ Do the right thing? Marry her Professor? It made no sense. _

“Sir,” she said weakly. “Though I appreciate the offer, I don’t think that’s necessary, surely, I can raise the child, single mothers aren’t that uncommon…”

Cutting her off with an exasperated roll of his eyes, he said sharply: “Miss Granger, single mothers does not exist in the wizarding world. The Muggles are years ahead of us in that respect, but in our world, it just … isn’t done. You will find more doors closed than you would expect.” 

Seeing her disbelieving frown, he continued, calming down: “Talk to Minerva about your … opportunities, or rather your lack of them. She’ll tell you, if you don’t believe me. I admit, I have a rather vested interest in this, and I can see why I’m not the best to tell you why marriage is a good idea.” 

She gasped. “I can’t tell Professor McGonagall about this!” her hands fluttered, pointing to him and back to her, and he smiled slightly. 

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t,” he said silkily. “Talk to her about your situation, but don’t divulge who the father is.” 

“Ok,” she whispered, “I’ll think about it.” 

Xxxx 

Plunging herself into it, not to lose her courage, she almost ran to McGonagall’s office, knocking on her door. 

“Yes, Miss Granger?” The glasses were pushed down on McGonagall’s nose, and she peered curiously over them, down at Hermione. 

“May I come in? I have a question.” 

“Surely, it can wait? It’s after all nine pm. You shouldn’t worry so much about your homework, Miss Granger, please spend some time with your friends too.”

“It’s not … about school, Professor. It’s … personal.” 

McGonagall’s eyebrows went up, surprise visible on her face. Cringing, Hermione said: “I know I shouldn’t bother you about anything not school-related, but I need advice. Please, Professor.” 

“Oh,” the old witch said, her eyes softening slightly. “As Head of House, I’ve heard many a complaint or worry, Miss Granger. Do come in.” 

Entering her office, Hermione always marvelled at how many tartan things you could cram into a chamber. The fabrics on the chairs, the rug, the curtains were all tartan, as well as wall hangings, even binders and folders on the desk and in the shelves. 

She sat down, nervously, in a large chair in front of the fireplace, her fingers nervously twirling her wand. 

McGonagall settled into a deep chair on the opposite side of the merrily crackling fire, Summoning a tea service. The pot was tartan pattern, as well as the dainty china, and for a fleeting moment, Hermione wondered whimsically if McGonagall would have charmed the tea into a tartan pattern too. She was almost disappointed when the tea came out of the spout as a regular, strong black tea. “Please, tell me what’s bothering you, Miss Granger, ” McGonagall said kindly. 

Hermione added a splash of milk in her tea, taking a sip to fortify herself. Taking a deep breath, she gulped out in a rush: “I’m pregnant.” Her words were thrumming against her ears, like the vowels and consonants were echoing around in her head: _ I’m - I’m - I’m pregnant - pregnant - pregnant… _

McGonagall blinked slowly. 

Words rushing out of her, she babbled: “I really am. And … I need to know, what happens in the magical world if you don’t marry the father?” 

McGonagall leaned back into her chair, her face a mix of worry and disappointment. “I must say I’m surprised, Miss Granger. I would have thought that you were much too sensible to let something like that happen before you finish school.” 

“Me too,” Hermione mumbled, before repeating: “I need to know, what’s it like to be a single mother in the wizarding world, Professor?” 

“I would strongly advise you to marry,” her Professor said, her mouth pinched in distaste. “There are seldom single mothers among wizardfolk. It’s just not… done.” 

“Why?” 

“Because, Miss Granger, wizards have the duty to protect and take care of their children too. It’s not up to the witch alone. The law gives the wizard right to name their heirs, to protect their family, to make joint decisions for their children with the mother. And a child born out of wedlock cannot inherit his father. Of course, much of this is due to the old, Pure-blood traditions, dating from medieval times. However, these questions are best solved within a marriage.” 

The old witch sighed, taking her glasses off, brushing her hands across her brow tiredly. “I know it might be different for Muggles, but I must warn you. There are … prejudices. Most wizards and witches will not employ an unmarried witch with children, and many will not even act friendly towards a single mother, believing her to have cheated the wizard of the right to know and protect his child. Or even worse, her morality might be questioned, and people will be wondering if she doesn’t even know who the father is. Truth to tell, Miss Granger, those witches often end up in the most unsavoury places of Knockturn Alley to earn their livelihood. Other opportunities are simply … not there.”

Hermione winced. _ It was worse than she had expected,. There was no reason not to trust McGonagall. The old witch wanted to help her, _she felt sure. “So, in short: if I do not marry, people will shun me, and I will not get any decent jobs?” 

“Yes. You will also not be allowed to finish Hogwarts.” 

Shock coursed through her. “I cannot take my NEWTs?” 

“Not unmarried, no. The Board doesn’t allow it. I’m not saying I agree with all this, but the world is what it is. I think many of these superstitions and beliefs are silly, but believe me, they are common.” Her Professor gave her a pitying look, her expression making it clear she knew what ending her education would mean to Hermione. 

“Please, consider marrying this wizard, whoever he is, Miss Granger. It’ll make everything easier on you,” McGonagall said kindly. “Then, the school rules will allow you help to raise your child as you finish your education.” She sighed, sipping her tea. 

“I would also ask you to consider your situation most carefully. Unfortunately, you, as a Muggleborn, will be even more susceptible to scorn and danger than a Pure-blood girl. As Harry’s friend, you have also caught You-Know-Who’s attention. You and your child will be very vulnerable on your own. Wards can do only so much, and even you cannot keep your guard up at all times, Hermione, especially with a small child demanding much of your attention. A husband would be sworn to protect you and your child, and you would be able to share the burden with each other. I’m sorry to say so, Miss Granger, but I’m afraid you’ll need help. The times are just this dire.” 

Hermione frowned, feeling stunned. _ McGonagall was right. Not only the stupid prejudice from the wizarding community, but also the very real danger from Voldemort pointed to her only solution: She would have to marry her teacher. _

“Unless....” McGonagall paused, looking uncertain. “Are there any reason why you wouldn’t want to marry the father? He hasn’t forced you…?” 

Quickly, she shook her head. “No, no, nothing like that. It’s just … not what I expected of my life.” 

Xxxx

She waited until the Common Room was almost empty, the embers in the fireplace slowly dying down. Her stomach felt like a thousand butterflies, and her palms were sweaty. _ Would she really have to marry Snape to continue her life in the magical world? With her parents in Australia, she no longer had the opportunity to retreat to the Muggle world. She had, effectively, brought this on herself. Still, she needed more confirmation. _

As Lavender finally turned on the doorstep to leave for the dorm, after having spent quite some time making smooching noises and blowing kisses to Ron, she cleared her throat nervously. 

Taking a deep breath, she said: “Erm, Ron? Is it true that it’s difficult to raise a child in the wizarding world as a single mother?” 

Ron looked bewildered at her. “As a single mum? I suppose so. I haven’t really heard of any…Well, there is this one witch. Mum and Dad went to school with her. They talk about her at times, when they’ve seen her lurking on the outskirts of Knockturn Alley, trying to get … ah well, you know, customers.” 

“Hang on,” Harry said slowly. “Why do you ask?” 

In that moment, Hermione would have given the world for having Snape’s blank poker face. Obviously, she hadn’t, because she felt her face flush. 

Harry’s green eyes sharpened, and she could see the wheel clicking in his head as he caught on. Scratching his head, he whispered: “Bloody hell, Hermione, is that why you’ve been ill?” 

Speechless, she just gaped at him. _ She had never thought the boys would discover her secret, not like this, at least. Why did they have to become observant and clever, just when she didn’t want them to? _

“Hang on, what…?” Ron’s face turned puce as he too cottoned on, before he snarled:” I’ll kill that bastard for not doing the right thing by you! Who is it?” 

“Nevermind,” she says nervously. “I just want to know if it’s possible to be a single mother in the wizarding world.” 

“But _ who _is it?” the boys almost chorused. She only shook her head, but the speculations had already started. 

“It can’t be anyone at school,” Harry mused, “or else we would have noticed. Basically, if you’re not shagging Neville - which I think is highly unlikely - I can’t see you spending that much time with anyone but us.” 

Suddenly, Ron grinned: “You cheeky wench, have you been sneaking outside when we thought you were in the library?” 

Startled, she almost squeaked a no, before she realized: _ If they believed this, it was better than the truth. Because saying ‘hey, I accidently shagged Professor Snape in the past,’ would probably not go down well. _

Then Ron became serious. “I mean it, Hermione, what kind of a bastard is this, who doesn’t want to marry you?” 

“Oh well,” she sighed, “he has offered. I’m just not sure if I want to. So, how is it, being a single mum?” 

Ron blinked. “It’s not done,” he says slowly. “I don’t know about anyone, except that woman I told you about. It wouldn’t go over well with most people. I’m sorry, Hermione, it’s true.” 

Her lips quivered, and she felt like her eyes were pleading with Ron to tell her differently. _ She had hoped it wasn’t true, but when both Ron and McGonagall were so adamant, it probably was. _

With a sigh, Harry said: “I can’t believe you, of all people, is pregnant.” 

Suddenly, she felt a rush of emotions, like she was both angry and hurt at the same time. “What?!” she almost shrieked. “You mean, like no one wouldn’t bother to be with me?” Sniffling, she felt flabbergasted at her own violent reaction. _ Maybe it was hormones. Or maybe it was that hidden hurt of being just a bushy-haired, buck-toothed bookworm, who never got anyone’s attention. _

“No, no,” Harry said hurriedly, as her eyes filled with tears. “I mean, you’re so sensible, there’s so many options, like spells, potions…” 

“Yes,” Ron chimed in. “That’s probably why people only get a child with someone they really love, because it’s so easily avoidable. Like the year-long potion, that Lavender is taking...” he broke off, blushing, while Harry arched an eyebrow at him, before grinning. 

Herself, she couldn’t care less if Ron shagged Lavender ten times a day. “I know it’s easy to avoid,” Hermione said morosely. “It was an accident, sort of.” 

“Why do you ask, really?” Ron said. “Why would you want to be a single mum?” 

She shrugged. “It’s normal in the Muggle world. Lots of women have babies without being married. I just… I think it’s too early to be tied down with a husband.” 

Ron blinked, incredulity and shock on his face. “What? Muggle men leave their women to take care of their kids alone? That’s really ...low.” Shaking his head, he muttered something about crazy Muggles, but Harry gave her a small smile. 

“It’s different,” he said. “Sometimes, we forget how different it is.” 

Sighing, she nodded. “I guess so,” she mumbled. 

“But who is it?” Ron pressed again, taking her hand. “You know, we’ll help you, all the way, but why won’t you tell us?” Face darkening, he asked: “He didn’t force you, did he?” 

“No, no,“ she said quickly, thinking about how they’d react if they knew the truth. “Absolutely not, it wasn’t like that. I promise to tell you later on, but I need to talk to him again, alright?” 

“Promise,” Ron said, his eyes soft and earnest, “because we will help you.” 

At that, her eyes did well over, and she hiccuped: “Thank you. I understand, it will be difficult to be a single mum, so … I don’t know, I need to mull it over by myself.” 

Xxxx

_ What would Professor Snape be like as a husband? _ The thought occupied her all Friday through classes, and she barely raised her hand in class, making Harry and Ron looking at her with worry. _ She had no idea what the man was like in private, except for the fact that he had a brilliant mind. Would he be snarky, throwing nasty comments left and right? Somehow, she didn’t think so, though she had no evidence to point otherwise. She had a hunch, that in private, he might be more like the young man she had met in 1978, than like her mean, irritable teacher. But she needed to know more about how he felt about this. _

In the evening, she was back in the dungeon, and he ushered her into his office almost before she managed to knock, his face a blank mask, though she rather thought he was still nervous. 

She sat still on her chair for a moment, the other questions burning on her tongue. She needed to know, before making her final decision. _ He’d likely be angry, but then again, he was Professor Snape. When _ ** _wasn’t _ ** _ he angry? _

Gathering her courage, telling herself to be a true Gryffindor, she plunged into it. 

“Sir.” 

He looked expectantly at her, and she swallowed deeply. “You knew it was me - all the time? Since I’ve started school?” 

Tapping his lip with one long, slender finger, he considered her question. Finally, he nodded. “I knew. I recognized you from the evening of your Sorting. You were so small, so scrawny, it was hard to reconcile that impression with what you were then … _ are now _.”

Hermione felt herself heat up, as his eyes lingered for a moment on her chest. “Did you ever think about _ that evening?” _ she whispered. 

He barked a short, bitter laugh. “Are you asking me if I’ve thought about you in a sexual capacity?” 

She blushed horribly at his directness, and he laughed even more, though she rather thought his laughter was directed at himself. “Yes, I have done so, Miss Granger, quite a few times. Mostly during the years after, but I can assure you it stopped abruptly when you showed up at Hogwarts as a tiny, buck-toothed child.” 

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, trying to block her mind from thinking about her stern teacher _ wanking _to the memory of her, the fuel for her fantasies suddenly becoming a reality. “But now, you’re offering marriage. Does that means you …”

“If I see you as an adult? Very much so, Miss Granger. I’ve noticed, for a while now.” 

He words blurted out of her with a shocked gasp: “When?”

He grimaced. “I’m no pervert, Miss Granger, lusting after little girls. Though, at the Yule ball, you suddenly looked somewhat like the vision landing in my bed in 1978, and then I knew you were finally starting to grow up. Yes, I have thought about you in the recent year, at times, when the occasion arose, so to speak.”

His voice was almost wistful, as he continued, taking no notice of her flabbergasted expression, like he had forgotten she was still present. “You … were a _ good _memory, Miss Granger, your presence in 1978 was a light to remember in those dark years that came. Something that … made me believe that there could be good things for me, too. Not only pain, darkness and the tedious conundrum of everyday life at Hogwarts. The incident was like magic come alive. You were … something to make me want to stay alive through it all, you were someone I wanted to meet again, someone I wanted to get to know.” 

Hermione shivered. Knowing what he had done, serving as the Order spy, imbued his words with a deeper meaning to her, and she felt something like reverence. _ The fact that her short stint to the past had been so important to him, was mind boggling. She would never have guessed that from the way he had treated her during her school years. He had to be a fantastic actor, to show her so much disdain over the years. That was … if he wasn’t acting right now? This behaviour certainly weren’t consistent with the Professor Snape she knew, though, it would fit better with the eighteen year old boy she had met in 1978. Was this some kind of ploy, to lure her into something? Was he truly a Death Eater like Harry thought, trying to lure her into her own ruin? _

Mulling it over, she repeated the old argument in her head. _ Dumbledore trusted Professor Snape. That would mean, he WAS on the Order’s side, and she knew, he had been protecting Harry, Ron and herself several times. If he had been an actual Death Eater, he could easily have harmed them, even letting them die. Still, even being on the Order’s side as a spy, what would marrying her mean for him - and for her? The Death Eaters surely wouldn’t take it in their stride that one of them married a Muggleborn! _

She cleared her throat, and his eyes snapped to her face, a faint colouring rising in his sallow cheeks. 

“What about You-Know-Who? Will he … punish you for marrying a Muggleborn?” 

He snorted. “He’ll think it an asset. He trusts me. You’re Harry Potter’s friend, and that would count for a lot. He’ll expect me to pump you for information about Harry. We would need to… fabricate things.” 

Nodding, she thought: _ If what he says is true, he won’t treat me badly. He actually wants this, it’s not just because he feels he has to marry me. _

“Then I accept,” she said softly. “Professor McGonagall advised me to marry, like she said: ‘whoever the wizard was’.” 

Snape looked actually relieved, and his shoulders slumped, before he leaned forward, his whole demeanor suddenly energized. “Right,” he said briskly. “Tomorrow, I’ll take you to Manchester, to the Northern Office of Marriage Registration. We’ll do it in secret, because...” he shot her a half-amused glance, “Minerva and Albus would kill me for dallying with a student. It’s better they get to know about this after the fact.” 

Hermione nodded, feeling a little dazed by his sudden energy. “Tomorrow, then,” she agreed. 

“What about Harry and Ron - can I tell them?” 

“No one!” he snapped, narrowing his eyes at her. “Not until the marriage is a fact.” His eyes softened, and he added: “Then, I would urge you to explain, to keep them on hand. I suppose, they will not like this, but whatever you do, keep your friends. Don’t make the mistake of letting them go.” 

There was a small pause, where they both avoided to look at each other. He mumbled, almost involuntarily, an almost shy look in his eyes: “Why do you consent to this? Are you so inherently practical and logical, that this is merely for safety reasons?” 

She almost laughed. “Yes and no,” she said. “I … when you sent me back, I would never have done what we did, unless I liked you.” 

He said sceptically: “Liked me?” The disbelief on his face was clear. 

She confirmed her words with a nod: “I’ve always respected you as a teacher, but I’ve never thought about… The young you, though, was so smart, so intelligent, you grasped the whole concept of Time-travelling and the implications so quickly. I’m not used to people understanding… Well, to put it short, I liked the young you. I suppose, you are like that still, somewhere, underneath all the sarcasm.” 

Smirking, he said tauntingly: “You’re not used to intelligent people.” 

She said angrily: “No... yes, that’s exactly what I mean by sarcasm!” 

“Never mind,” he said with an apologetic look, “forgive me, I shouldn’t have riled you up. It’s habitual. Just … don’t tell anyone, and meet me by the gates at ten o’clock. Disillusion yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made the wizarding world extremely backwards and old-fashioned, just to serve my own needs with this story. Because I can see Hermione easily chose to be a single mum in such a situation, if there wasn't any outside pressure.


	4. Married to Snape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus Snape was staring at her, taking in the sight, his eyes full of a hunger that made her stomach flip and something warm pooling in her belly. Suddenly, she felt like preening, basking in the admiration in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for giving kudos, commenting, bookmarking and subscribing! <3

Pacing at the gates at ten to ten in the morning, she still couldn’t believe her situation. _ She was pregnant, and running away with Professor Snape to get married. The whole thing seemed ludicrous, something out of a very confused dream, but still, she realized it was the right thing to do to protect her child. No matter her sexual infatuation with Professor Snape, she could still see there were reasons for doing this. He was brilliant, with an intellect to match her own, and he was powerful. In short, he’d be a perfect protector for her baby, and for herself, when she was in a vulnerable state after the birth. Then again, he was Professor Snape, the menace of her childhood, the terror of all Gryffindors. The man who had sent her back in time, taken her, tricked her into taking a Fertility potion. _

She tittered nervously at herself. _ If eloping with Professor Snape wasn’t proof enough of her being a reckless Gryffindor, she didn’t know what would be. Jumping off the Hogwarts train at full speed, or Apparating on top of Voldemort to force-feed him a Canary Cream, would perhaps come close. In short, she couldn’t imagine anything more reckless, short of suicidal behaviour. Still, she was sure, this was the right thing to do. _

The clock ticked by, passing the mark of ten, and Hermione felt uneasy. _ Had they been discovered? He had said Dumbledore and McGonagall would be angry. Would he lose his job, due to this? _

In the distance, the great doors in the Entrance hall slammed open, and a black figure in billowing robes came striding towards her. Relief settled in her stomach, but still she worried. _ Would he think her silly? _ Underneath her grey robes - _ not her school robes - _ she wore her nicest dress, for the moment Glamoured white. It was long, trailing the ground, and with long, tight sleeves and a boat neck, the fabric covered by laces. Originally, it had been blue and a lot shorter. _ Gods, she shouldn’t have Glamoured it, he would probably arch that eyebrow and say something scalding. _

He reached the gate, and she felt a silly amount of relief, seeing that he wore dress robes too. “Hey,” she said softly, to let him know she was there. 

“My apologies for leaving you waiting,” he said formally, as he drew his wand, waving it in an intricate pattern to open the gates. “There was a disturbance in the Slytherin Common Room. The little rascals were staging a duel.” 

The gates clanked open, rusty hinges squeaking in the misty rain. 

“Oh,” she said, following him outside. 

“Let’s go into that copse of trees, and then we’ll Apparate,” he said. She almost had to run to keep up with his long legs. 

“Sir,” she said, almost panting as she tried to keep up with him. “This marriage … are you in danger of losing your job?” 

He almost stopped short, before saying curtly: “No. It isn’t illegal to marry a student, though it is illegal to have carnal relations with an unmarried student. I haven’t touched you while I was your teacher. We’re safe.” 

Stopping inside the copse of fir trees, she let her Disillusionment go, feeling a cold rush as it slithered off, and then they were off with the CRACK! of Apparition. 

Muggle Manchester looked dreary, even in the dappled sunlight of early May. However, the Wizarding District was something quite different. She peered at it with interest, having never seen any other wizarding areas than Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. The houses were steep buildings from the end of the nineteenth century, ornamented with stucco, small towers and arches, with broad, cobbled streets adorned with large trees. 

“It looks very … posh,” she said in surprise, and he snorted. “Aye. The whole thing was built around 1880 by a wizard with more money than brains. He tore down the whole medieval wizarding village, replacing it with this, because he thought it looked _ nicer. _” The sneer was audible in his voice, and she peered at him. 

“Who was this?” 

“Trajan Prince,” he said curtly, keeping his eyes on the street. 

She furrowed her brow. “The Princes? That line died out, didn’t it?” _ She hadn’t found anyone named Prince, except that elusive girl, Eileen Prince. Therefore, she assumed the line to be dead. _

He glanced at her, muttering: “In a manner of speaking. Tell me, in your incessant perusal of the library, did you even go as far as reading the ‘_ Book of Wizarding families’ _?” 

She shrugged, giving him half a smile. “Just browsing through a few families. It’s good to know that Crabbe really does have a troll among his ancestors, however that came about, and that Parkinson’s great grandmother is actually a Half-blood, due to some … indiscretions on behalf of her great great grandmother. I’ve found, such facts make them shut up about my blood status. Pansy even offered me free intel from the Slytherin Common Room if I kept mum.” 

At that, his mouth actually tugged into a small smile. “Maybe you should have been in Slytherin yourself.” 

Her blush was immediate, eyes darting at the Head of Slytherin beside her. _ She had never told anyone, but it wouldn’t matter - he was to be her husband. _ “Actually, the Hat said I’d fit in Slytherin, except for being a Muggleborn. I ended up in Gryffindor, as the Hat deemed me too much of a doer for Ravenclaw.” 

He arched an eyebrow at that, saying with a quirk of his lips: “I knew you were a good choice for me. Ah, here we are.” 

His words made a small shiver trail down her spine. _ A good choice? She supposed, as far as Professor Snape was concerned, this was a compliment of astounding proportions. _ Glancing at him, she felt herself warm up slightly. _ Really, she should stop thinking about him as Professor Snape. In minutes, he’d be her husband. _

The white building in front of them was imposing, with six floors of gilded, ornamented stucco, like sugared confection adorning a lavish cake. Over the door, the sign said: MARRIAGE REGISTRATION OFFICE, in large, golden letters. 

He flicked his wrist at the doors, making them crash open, and the two of them strode in. 

“We’re here to be married,” he barked at the receptionist. Looking up, the witch squeaked loudly.

“Professor Snape, sir!” 

“Indeed,” he said silkily, and the witch blinked stupidly at him, before glancing briefly at Hermione. Her head swiveled back for a double take, as she took in Hermione’s face. The witch's thoughts were plainly visible on her face: _ She’s so young, she must be a student still! Poor girl… _

“Well?” he sneered. 

The receptionist asked weakly: “Have you booked in advance, sir?” 

“No.” 

“Let me see…” the woman said, peering at a ledger in front of her. Hermione guessed her to be around twenty-five, blonde and with vacuous, blue eyes. 

After a while, Hermione started to tap her foot impatiently as the witch read slowly, her lips moving silently as her eyes followed the finger she dragged over the parchment. Though, of course, a certain someone was far more impatient than herself. 

“Today!” He took a menacing step forward, looming over the desk. 

“Yes, yes, Professor Snape,” she whimpered, and he hissed at her: “Just as slow as you were in my class, aren’t you, Miss Pemberton?” 

“No, sir! The official will be right with you, sir! Congratulations on your betrothal, sir!” 

“Good,” he purred, stepping back. As they waited, Hermione took the opportunity to fold her robe back over her shoulders, revealing her dress. She felt him stiffen beside her with a sharp gasp. Blushing, she looked up at him. _ Stupid, it had been stupid to dress up for this. He’d call her out on this. _

But Severus Snape was staring at her, taking in the sight, his eyes full of a hunger that made her stomach flip and something warm pooling in her belly. Suddenly, she felt like preening, basking in the admiration in his eyes. 

“You look…” he almost croaked, when they were interrupted: 

“Mr. Snape! How good to finally see you in this office!” An older wizard beamed at them, stretching out his hands to shake Snape’s hand. “And this is your lovely betrothed?” 

The smile was benign, and Hermione gave him a small smile in return. “Hermione Granger,” she said, and he nodded at her. 

“Come with me, and I’ll get your wedding sorted. You mother would have been so happy, Mr. Snape, she always wanted you to find a witch. And such a lovely young witch, your mother would have been proud.” 

They trailed after him, finally entering a small office. The man cleared his throat, and said: “Right, well. At first, I will perform the spell to prove the legality of your match and your mutual consent.” 

He waved his wand at them, muttering to himself, and as a clear, golden light shone from his wand, he nodded in satisfaction. “All is good. We are gathered here today, to join in marriage Severus Tobias Snape and Hermione Jean Granger. Severus Snape, will you love, cherish, hold and protect the woman at your side for the rest of your days, and stay true to her, and her only?” 

“I do,” Snape said in his deep voice, making a tingle shoot down her spine. 

“Will you give her children and protect them with your life, and care for them as long as you live?” 

“I will.” 

“And will you, Hermione Granger, love, cherish, care for and support the man at your side, for the rest of your days, and stay true to him, and him only?” 

She had known it was coming, that _ stupid _difference between his vow of ‘protection’ and her vow of ‘support’, like she was going to play second fiddle in the marriage. Still she gritted her teeth, saying: “I do.” 

“Will you grant him children, protect your children with your life, and care for them as long as you live?” 

“I will.” 

“Then I now pronounce you husband and wife!” 

Snape leaned down, kissing her on the lips, as a shining bond snaked around their wrists, settling into their skin like a warm, comforting glow. His lips were surprisingly soft, moving hungrily at hers, and he broke away when she gasped a little, his black eyes glittering. 

“Congratulations!” the official boomed, smiling happily at them. “I can tell, this marriage will be a happy one.” 

Xxxx

A fire was lit in the grand, almost cavernous fireplace of his dungeon quarters, flames crackling merrily, and the flickering light played on the stone floor and the tall bookshelves filled to the brim with books and scrolls. In front of the fireplace, there were two deep, black, leather chairs, and a small, spindly table in between, barely large enough for placing two tea-cups or glasses on. The room was circular, and she could see the bedroom through a half-opened door, a large four-poster bed with green hangings dominating the room. 

His hands came around her, and he pressed himself against her back. With his mouth close to her ear, he whispered silkily: “The marriage must be consummated, or else it might be contested.” She felt herself tensing up - _ having sex with her teacher for real was something entirely different than with the young Slytherin in the past - _ but she forced her body to relax, leaning back into his arms. _ It was him, the same man. He would want her to feel good this time too, she felt sure. _

Though he had been fuel for her fantasies for a good while, his eagerness was still making her feel shy and awkward, as she felt his hardness nudge the small of her back. Her mind hadn’t quite completed the turnabout from him being her stern, disapproving Professor to a husband that seemed all too willing to take her to bed, but she promised herself, she would try. 

His hands first came up to stroke her arms gently, then one hand inched down, touching her upper chest, fingers trailing softly over her skin, making her skin tingle and form goosebumps of pleasure. _ Maybe this wouldn’t be strange at all. Maybe it would be pleasurable and nice. Maybe he actually wanted her, not just for doing the right thing by marrying her. _

His head came down to her shoulder again, lips nuzzling the tender skin on her neck, and she gave off a small moan that made him smile against her throat. The hand moved down the lining of her dress, dancing over her breasts, stopping by a nipple to roll the little bud into attention. She leaned her head back to his chest, slowly grinding her hips against his thighs, making him groan. 

“Oh, Hermione, I’ve wanted this for so long, ever since 1978. I can’t believe I’m about to have you for real, this time.” 

_ It was surreal. Her Professor saying something like this… Don’t think too much, _ she told herself_. Just feel it, try to enjoy yourself, forget the awkwardness of this. _Sighing softly, she responded : “I’ve thought about it several times since it happened. I can’t even begin to comprehend how that would be after nineteen years.” 

He stopped his movements, saying: “And what did you think of it?” 

“Apart from the strangeness, Time-Travelling and all?” she quipped, her cheeks blushing. The admission on the tip of her tongue would probably cost her - _ would he sneer at her, saying something cruel? _ But then again, she rather thought he had admitted too much himself. At least, she was willing to take the chance. _ If this marriage was to work out, there had to be trust. _Nervously, she continued: “I’ve thought … I wanted to do it again. With you.” 

He almost stiffened, hands clasping her shoulders like claws, before he growled in her ear: “And you will, little witch. Again, and again and again.” 

A hot tremor shot through her belly, and she sucked in a breath. _ He wanted her - he really did. Not only as a young teenage boy - everybody knew, a teenage boy would want anyone - but also as a grown man. _

Smiling with a newfound confidence, she turned around, taking hold of his neck and dragging him down to her for a kiss. His response was immediate, and he took control of the kiss, his tongue licking her lips, opening her mouth, and meeting her own. 

His hands brushed over her arms, finding her sides and waist, roaming down to cup her arse, pressing her to his body. He found the buttons in the back of her dress, opening them by stroking his hands upward, then dragging her dress down to pool around her waist. 

Groaning, he took hold of her shoulders, leaning her upper body back to greedily take in the sight of her breasts, encased in her best, lacy bra. “That’s it,” he hissed, “so perfect, so pert and round.”

Hermione felt herself blush slightly at his obvious appraisal, nipples hardening under his gaze. He gripped her waist, splayed hands sliding up until the thumbs reached the underside of her breasts, making her gasp. 

“Oh yes, little witch, I’m going to make you enjoy this so much,” he crooned, moving his hands underneath her bra, before wordlessly Vanishing it altogether. Gooseflesh broke out on her chest at the sudden cold air, and she arched into him as his thumbs reached her nipples, circling her buds. The rest of her dress fell down at her feet with her knickers and stockings, and he lifted her up, carrying her over to the soft rug in front of the fire. 

“I’m going to make you come, and then I’ll fuck you, my sweet witch,” he mumbled as he laid her down on the rug, hands moving down her body to spread her legs. He positioned himself between her legs, and she squirmed with embarrassment as he unapologetic stared at her sex, licking his lips, as his chest rose and fell with heavy breathing. 

She realized he was still fully dressed, and the feeling of being splayed out so wantonly for her Professor to see made her both hot and cold, making her breath come in little pants. _ It felt positively dirty, that’s what it was, being entirely naked in front of him. _

The feeling didn’t last long, as he dived in, attacking her with his mouth, tongue sliding wet and warm over her nub, delving into her slit, licking, suckling on her slick sex. She gave off a high-pitched, shrill whine of surprise and pleasure, arching her hips up to meet his mouth, and his chuckle against her clit made tremors run up into her belly, her hips starting to gyrate. 

“Oh, so good,” she panted, “more… a little faster…” 

“I’ll give you more,” he growled, one large finger entering her sopping wet hole, slowly fucking her as he continued to lick her. The other hand held a death-grip on her hips, forcing her still. Her legs started trembling, almost drumming against the rug, and the wave of pleasure rose inside her, clenching around his finger, making him move faster, finger-fucking her in earnest, her clit trembling with need, until the crest broke, and she wailed as she crashed over the edge: “Professoooor!” 

The waves of pleasure receded after what seemed like a long time, but at last, she opened her eyes, seeing his face, chin shiny with wetness, and a smug expression on his sallow face. “I believe you are satisfied, Madam Snape,” he drawled with a small tug of his mouth. 

She nodded breathlessly, feeling almost boneless and limp. 

“But I’m not,” he growled, his hands suddenly tearing desperately at his fly, pushing his trousers down to free his cock. She felt a weak tremor of excitement through her clit at his words, and her eyes locked on his member. 

It bobbed, standing rock-hard to attention, the tip an angry, weeping red, and to Hermione’s eyes, it seemed larger than she remembered. Still in his frock coat and shirt, he fisted his cock, squeezing it, before leaning forward, supporting himself with one hand, positioning himself at her opening, before he drove home with a deep, guttural groan. Wasting no time, he thrust hard and fast in and out of her, grunting to her: “You looked and tasted so delicious as you came, I’m not going to last long inside your hot, tight cunt. You’ll have to take it, take it all, take it hard now, and I’ll give you long and slow some other time. Because right now, Madam Snape, I’m going to fill up your pretty little cunt with my seed.” 

She could feel him grow, harden almost impossibly inside her, before his cock started to pulse. He stiffened above her, throwing his head backwards, as he groaned again, spilling himself inside her, still thrusting through his orgasm. 

Breathing hard, he leaned down, resting his head on her shoulder for a while, and she could feel his cock soften slowly. “Marvellous,” he muttered, kissing the crook of her neck lazily, before he pulled back, his cock slipping out of her, a sticky trail trickling out in its wake. 

He gave her a smile, showing off his crooked teeth, and she returned it shakily. _ He looked happy, carefree, and somehow, she didn’t think she had ever seen him look happy. Not in class, and not really at her stint into the past either. _

“You must be hungry,” he said briskly, “it’s dinner time.” 

She goggled at him, wondering if they were to go to dinner at the Great Hall together, right now. He must have sensed her questions, shaking his head, and saying: “For tonight, we’ll eat in my … our … chambers. Tomorrow, we’ll tell Dumbledore.” 

With a snap of his fingers, a House-Elf appeared, and Hermione almost shrieked in surprise. 

“Sorry, Miss, Tinny is sorry!” the Elf squeaked, pulling its ears. 

“It’s Madam Snape,” her husband rumbled, “and she’s merely surprised. It’s my fault, I should have warned her. Now, Tinny,” he gave the Elf a stern look, “you are not to punish yourself for this. Instead, you’ll bring us a dinner fit to celebrate our wedding. Can you do that?” 

“Yes, Master!” the Elf said, “Congratulations, Master and Mistress, Tinny is so very happy for you. Will there be babies, sir?”

The Elf looked at them with shiny, hopeful eyes, and Hermione saw her husband - she had to get used to calling him _ Severus _\- smile a little, nodding to her as to leave the answer up to her. 

“Yes, Tinny,” she said, making the Elf whoop with joy, “but not for another seven months.” 

As she rose, she fumbled to reach her clothing, but he shook his head at her, instead sending out a whisper of power, the magic returning items of clothing to his outstretched hand. 

“Here,” he said gruffly, draping a black, Acromantula silk dressing gown around her shoulders, the silk whispering softly around her skin, like a caress, and she wondered if he had anticipated this too before his proposal. _ Because whenever had he had time to go shopping for a witch’ dressing gown these last two days? _

He shrugged into his own velvet dressing gown, and they sat down to eat the sumptuous dinner the House-elves had cooked for them. It was a delicious three course meal, topped with a heart-shaped chocolate cake that made him arch his eyebrows, like such romantic nonsense was beneath him - and yet, he refrained from any barbed comments. _ Because of her, _ she suddenly realized, a faint blush rising in her cheeks, _ he wanted her to experience her wedding as romantic, not destroying the mood with his acerbic tongue. _

Afterwards, he pulled her into his lap, sitting in one of the deep chairs in front of the fireplace. 

“You will need to tell your parents,” he said, his voice a deep rumble against her hair. “I imagine, they won’t be all too happy about their daughter marrying a man twice her age all of a sudden.” 

Her breath hitched, and she croaked out: “They won’t find out for a while. They’re not here. I sent them away.” 

He shrugged behind her. “I can Apparate you to wherever they are, or get an international Portkey.” 

“No, I mean, I Obliviated them, sending them away, to keep them safe,” she said, her voice very small. 

He was quiet for a while, before asking her softly: “Because of the war, I assume?” 

“Yes,” she muttered. “To keep them safe.” 

Stroking her arms, he kissed her hair. “This … was probably the right thing to do, these days. They would have been in a very real danger, very soon. I was prepared to protect them, but with your foresight, it won’t be necessary. You’re very brave, my little wife.” 

At that, she cried a little into his chest, experiencing the strange joy of being comforted by the last wizard anyone would run to for comfort. She felt safe, and his reassurance that she had done the right thing felt like balm on her sore heart. He held her, hands stroking her shoulders and back slowly. 

After a while, she stopped her sniffling, asking quietly: “In class, what should I do? Will you act differently towards me?” 

He chuckled. “Oh yes, I will. I’ll avail myself of the opportunity to treat you like your brain deserve, not like I’ve been forced to act all these years.” 

“Forced?” she said, lifting her face to him questioningly. 

“I play a role for both sides,” he answered slowly. “I couldn’t be seen to treat Harry Potter’s Muggleborn friend too well, no matter how brilliant she was. Now, though, she’s my wife, and everybody knows a Slytherin takes care of their own.” 

She laughed. “I’m sure it will feel surreal, for everyone.”

He gave her an amused smile. “Sure. Besides,” he added, “there’s only a few weeks left of the school year.” 

“There’s next year,” she pointed out, “I still have my seventh year left.” 

At that, he stilled, before the words coming slowly. “Let’s deal with that, when the time comes.” 

Sighing, she leaned back into his chest again, reveling in the warmth from his naked chest. “Why the potion?” she asked after a while. “Was it to secure my compliance? That’s a bit … manipulative, isn’t it?”

He shifted underneath her, and she could tell he was uncomfortable. “It is,” he said grudgingly. “My future self insisted, saying it was a vital piece of the puzzle. Maybe it was for your compliance. Do you … mean you wouldn’t have considered me if you weren’t pregnant?” 

Suddenly, she felt as if the world hinged on her answer. “I ... “ she began, voice faltering, “I… thought about you, a lot. But I never thought we’d be married. That seemed a bit far-fetched, didn’t it? You, my Professor, and I…” 

He snorted irritably. “You’d have taken a younger man instead, wouldn’t you? Someone like Weasley or Potter, someone your own age, not … me.” 

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “I wouldn’t have thought this possible, because of you being my teacher, as well as you being …well, _ you _. I didn’t really think you’d want me.” 

That made him still, before he exhaled slowly. For a moment, they were quiet, only the crackling from the logs in the fireplace was heard. 

On an impulse, she asked: “If there was no war, what would you do in the future?” 

“No war? A world with no Dark Lord, I presume?” his voice was bitter, before he dragged his hands through his hair. Barking a short laugh, he said: “I would do research. Not teaching. And then, I would have dinner ready when my wife came home, telling me everything about her doings as Minister for Magic, before we laugh at the letters from our children at Hogwarts, asking for more money to buy sweets and insane joke products.” 

She giggled. “I could absolutely see you doing research. But Minister for Magic? That’s … a lot.” 

“Oh no,” he said, turning her head to him, those dark eyes gazing inscrutable at her. “I do think you’re cut out for Minister. Much better than those idiots we’ve been swamped with the last, few years.” 


	5. Disbelief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Or more likely,” Harry said darkly, “he has planned this all along. With Voldemort. I hope you’re right, Hermione, or else you’ll be in trouble.” 
> 
> “He means dead,” Ron said helpfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for responding and telling me what you think of the story! <3

“You did WHAT?!” 

McGonagall’s shriek was filled with rage, and her beady eyes flashed with menace. Hermione looked away, wincing at her favourite teacher’s anger, but the furious glare from the Headmaster proved to be even more intimidating. All traces of the old, friendly, slightly dotty wizard was gone, and instead, she could almost feel the power radiating from him, making her realize just why Albus Dumbledore was considered to be the only wizard You-Know-Who feared. 

“Severus.” His voice was deceptively calm, but it cut through the room. Instantly, it made McGonagall shut up, her head swivelling towards the Headmaster. Hermione swallowed, fear prickling at her back, like she was bodily threatened by his voice. 

Her husband, though, _ Severus_, she reminded herself, was sitting calmly, unruffled, like this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. 

“Yes, Albus?” he said mildly. 

“I am deeply disappointed. Such interaction with a student, no matter that Miss Granger …” 

“Madam Snape,” Severus interrupted, his words making a brief scowl cross Dumbledore’s features. 

“...Madam Snape,” the Headmaster continued, blue eyes boring into her husband, “..is of age, is a serious offence. And you know, very well, how this is going to muddle up our plans.” 

“I realize that,” Severus said smoothly, “but it wasn’t to be helped. As for _ interactions, _I can assure you that as her Professor, I haven’t touched her in any way that’s inappropriate. However, I had to do the right thing. You see,” his smile was faintly sneering, “she was already pregnant, by me, though the interaction happened in 1978. My wife travelled back in time, met my younger self, and voila.” 

McGonagall gasped. “This is what you were asking me, Miss Granger? And it happened by Time-travel? But you were trying to avoid a marriage, lass, you didn’t want to be married when you came to me. Did he … force you?”” 

Hermione saw Severus stiffen by her side, and she hastened to correct her Head of House: “It’s _ Madam Snape _ , Professor. I took _ your _advice to heart, and no, he hasn’t forced me in any way. I did indeed travel back in time, and I met the eighteen year old Severus. I can attest, he hasn’t touched me in that capacity while he was my Professor. Not at all. Though,” she felt like adding, “the marriage is, of course, now duly consummated.” 

The sudden blush on both Dumbledore’s and McGonagall’s faces was satisfying, and she saw the tiny smirk on her husband’s face, making her understand that he approved of what she had just said. _ Or, maybe he was just happy to not have to tell them everything himself. _

“This might very well be true,” Dumbledore said sternly, “but Severus, I cannot see how you could be this foolish. The war…” 

“I can’t change what I did as an eighteen year old student,” he interrupted, black eyes narrowing at Dumbledore, “and I will not let Hermione shoulder the blame for what I did, leaving her alone to the consequences of the pregnancy…” 

“What _ we _did,” she added, making her husband glance at her, a miniscule flash of gratitude in his eyes, before he continued: “We’ll make the most of it, as always, Albus.” 

The Headmaster sighed deeply, his withered hand dragging briefly across his face. “Not everything can change, Severus. You need to do your part.” A look of understanding passed between the two of them, before the Headmaster concluded: “I cannot stop a Ministerial inquiry on your relations prior to your marriage. But given the fact that you’re expecting a child, have gotten married and…” a brief grimace of distaste marred his face, “... I will allow you to live together as a married couple until the inquiry is settled.” 

Xxxx

“You did WHAT?!” 

Hermione felt like it was a repeat performance of the reveal for the Headmaster and her Head of House, but somehow, she rather thought appeasing Harry and Ron would be more difficult. Besides, this time, she was alone. _ Thank Merlin for that, _ she silently thought. _ Having her husband there when she explained this to the boys would be an absolute disaster. _

Ron’s face was almost puce, but Harry’s face was ashen, those green eyes burning at her with a terrible hurt, like she had just told him she routinely sacrificed babies to Voldemort’s glory, or maybe had killed Hedwig. _ Like this was unforgivable. _

“I did,” she said calmly, though, somewhere inside, she was also secretly pleased that her self-made spell Bubble of Silence held up, even though Ron had been shouting. Harry hadn’t said a word, and that was even worse. 

Ron shook his head in disgust. “You went back in time, shagged the greasy git, became pregnant, and now you married him, Professor Severus ‘I don’t know how to wash my hair’ Snape, himself? 

“Ron!” she chastised him with an angry glare. “You can’t talk about my husband like that.” 

“Has he Confounded you?” Harry shot in, his voice almost a whisper, like he needed an explanation to cling too, something he could understand. 

“What? No, I did this on my own volition. Both you and Professor McGonagall told me, it’s difficult to be a single mother.” 

“Please, Hermione, you didn’t consummate the marriage, did you?” Ron pleaded with her. 

“I most certainly did,” she said primly, and to her surprise, both boys blushed scarlet. 

“Because if you hadn’t,” Ron said haltingly, his ears a bright red, “you could have backed out, you know.” 

“Ron,” she said with exasperation, “I don’t want to back out. This was my choice.” 

“He must have tricked you,” Harry said, something like anguish in his voice. “He’s a grown man, a spy, a supposed Death Eater, he _ can’t _want you, it’s impossible.” Harry was scrubbing his face, like he was trying to wake up from a nightmare. 

“Thank you very much,” she snapped, “I can tell you, he wants me.” 

Ron groaned, covering his ears, muttering: “Gods, no, don’t give us any details, please, or I’ll have to Scourgify my brain.” 

“Ok, I didn’t mean it like that,” Harry said warily, “please, Hermione. I meant, even if he really is on our side, which I think is _ not _the case, this is going to destroy his spying, won’t it? Marriage to a Muggleborn, there’s no way Voldemort’s going to stand for that.” 

“He says it’ll work out,” she said stubbornly. 

“Merlin, Hermione, Harry’s right,” Ron mumbled. “You-Know-Who is going to kill him. How can he not do that, being who he is?” 

She bit her lip, uncertainly. _ The boys were pointing out one of her own worries, but still, he had said it would be alright. She had chosen to trust Severus. _

Shaking her head, she said: “It’ll work out. You’ll see.” 

“Or more likely,” Harry said darkly, “he has planned this all along. With Voldemort. I hope you’re right, Hermione, or else you’ll be in trouble.” 

“He means dead,” Ron said helpfully. 

“No!” she shouted, pointing her finger at them, her Bubble of Silence breaking with a loud POP!, making everyone in the Common Room stare at them in surprise. “It’s not like that. I should wish the two of you could be happy for me, for once in a while. What about a simple ‘Congratulations, Hermione’? Is that so fucking hard to do?” 

Turning on her heel, she marched out of Gryffindor Tower, heading for the dungeons, her new home. 

Xxxx

At the Sunday dinner, Dumbledore clinked his glass, before his voice boomed out in the Great Hall, voice magically amplified by the Sonorous Charm. Together with Severus, she waited in the back, out of sight, behind the door leading to the Head Table. 

“Student, teachers and reverent ghosts. I have an announcement to make. Our beloved Severus Snape” - there was a slight tittering in the Hall at that, making her husband emit a small growl at Dumbledore’s clearly intended slight - “has wedded our equally beloved Hermione Granger. Students, teachers, ghosts - I give you the Snapes.” 

Her husband almost blasted the door open, making it crash into the wall with an almighty bang, and they took their places at the Head table, Severus leading her by the elbow to sit by his side. 

The silence was ringing, and everyone looked like they had been Stunned, or maybe even Petrified, mouths open, eyes glazed with surprise. The Headmaster clapped his hands slowly, starting the applause, and slowly, automatically, everyone followed his lead, but no one cheered. The Slytherins looked the most shocked of them all, like the fact that their Head of House marrying a Muggleborn Gryffindor student was a completely unimaginable event, while the Gryffindors were already whispering worriedly among themselves. 

Looking around her at the Head Table, the teachers looked equally surprised, several blinking stupidly, before McGonagall lifted her goblet, clinking it against Severus’ and then Hermione’s own, saying with acid dripping from her voice: “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Snape.” 

After that, dinner became a blur of polite greetings, poorly hidden sneering and laughter, and quite a few genuinely worried glances sent her way, from both students and teachers.

Inside, she felt like she was fuming on behalf of him. _ He was, almost by default, cast as the great villain, somehow inexplicably seducing the young maid, and now, he was reviled for what they had done. _It made her straighten her back, put a smile on her face, resting her hand on his arm frequently, even whisper into his ear, and above all, sending him admiring looks, to make them seem like a normal couple. 

He reciprotated by patting her hand, turning his attention to her and being unfailingly polite and gentlemanly. She could tell, he was almost as uncomfortable by the situation as she was, but overall, her strategy worked. Slowly, people looked away from them, returning to their normal dinner conversations. _ Still, it made for the most awkward dinner she had ever had in her life. _

Xxxx

The very next day, the Ministry’s inquiry was underway. Hermione was pulled from her Transfiguration class, and Severus’ class were given a free period. 

The transfiguration class had been extremely odd, with McGonagall refusing to acknowledge her when she raised her hand, and the other students were staring at her like she had grown a second head. It was a relief when the summon to the Head’s office came by way of a terrified first year, sent to get herself. The first year almost gibbered as he ran off to knock on the Defense classroom, clearly horrified by the prospect of interrupting Professor Snape’s lesson. 

In Dumbledore’s office, they were met by the Board of Governors, the Headmaster and a group of elderly men in Auror robes. 

“I’m Senior Auror Styles, and I’m heading this group,” a middle-aged, portly wizard said self-importantly. “We’re here to investigate your relationship prior to your marriage, to see if there were any unlawful activities.” 

He sent Severus a dirty look, like he suspected him of coercion, rape and dark magic. From the corner of her eye, she could tell, the members of the Board looked quite frankly bored. One of them winked wickedly at Severus, but he didn’t acknowledge it, just stared at the Aurors, his face as impassive and blank as always. 

Both of them were subjected to a round of Legilimency, as there was some speculations if Severus was able to brew an antidote to Veritaserum. 

“Hmph,” the wizard in charge snorted, before saying sullenly: “We can’t take any chances that you’ve ingested this so-called _ fabled _antidote. Not that I think it exists, but still, that’s the orders from above.” 

To Hermione’s surprise, Severus nodded, but his eyes were glinting with something she interpreted as amusement, though she rather thought the Aurors saw him as merely … _ dangerous_. 

An elderly wizard stepped forward, identifying himself as Joseph Mercurian, the Ministry expert on Legilimency. 

“Sit down, relax and look into my eyes, my dear,” he told her, a friendly expression on his round face. “It won’t take long.” 

She gave him a brief smile in return, and settled back into her chair. It was uncomfortable, having the Ministry’s mage rooting around in her head, and she squirmed on her chair as he dragged up memory after memory of the two of them. 

Severus, on the other hand, looked calm and unruffled as he was subjected to Legilimency. 

In the end, Mercurian concluded: “You both tell the truth. He hasn’t coerced the girl, and there was no inappropriate contact before they married - except from that Time-travel. However, that can’t be considered even remotely illegal.” 

Auror Styles snorted, like he didn’t believe his colleague, and when met by Severus’ arched eyebrow and triumphant sneer, his face darkened. “Some people,” he muttered, “_ some _people manage to get away with everything, though they’re clearly guil…”

The Headmaster interrupted, his voice wheezing and hoarse: “Auror Styles, I’ve already said I trust Severus. When he told us it was so, I believed him straight away. He’s an honourable man.” 

Beside her, she felt her husband tense, like he was suddenly enraged, and she reached out, taking his hand, rubbing her thumb in soothing circles on the back of his hand. Minutely, he relaxed. 

Auror Styles continued sourly: “Anyway, this is not a matter for further investigation. The case is closed.” A small scroll appeared in the air, and the wizard scrawled a few sentences, before the scroll rolled itself up and disappeared. “Damned paperwork,” he muttered, “those sickos at the Archive is demanding more and more each day. Whoever heard of documenting a case that isn’t really a case? That would have been practically unheard of, just a few years ago.” 

Hermione, snorted softly. While she knew herself to be no Occlumens, she couldn’t understand how they thought they’d be able to break into his mind to see the truth of his intentions. The Ministry would never manage to penetrate his mind through Legilimency. Her husband withstood and fooled Voldemort on a regular basis, and she sincerely doubted that the Ministry’s mage had been any better. _ So, in short, the entire inquiry was probably moot as it was. _

  
  
  


Xxxx

She joined her class in the Greenhouses for her Herbology lesson, being late for the pruning of the Knotgrass. Harry and Ron ignored her, both of them turning their back to her, and she sighed, walking along the potting benches to look for an available space.

Professor Sprout nodded at her, a look of motherly concern on her face, and Hermione smiled weakly at her. _ It was good to know not everyone would give her the cold shoulder. McGonagall’s behaviour this morning had been a nasty surprise. _

The rest of the class goggled at her, but to her surprise, Padma Patil from Ravenclaw whispered to her as she passed: “Congrats, you’re so lucky. He’s easily the hottest wizard around.” 

Her eyebrows rose, and she croaked out a whispered: “Thank you,” though inside, a flame of hot possessiveness unfurled, craving Padma to lay off _ her husband. _Blinking at herself, she moved on, finally taking a place beside Neville. 

Neville was deep into his work, pruning shears wielded expertly as he carefully and gently cut older leaves away to store them in a small cedar casket. 

“Mind if I borrow some Mooncalf dung?” she asked. 

Neville took one look at her, and _ squeaked_. “Gods, Hermione! Are you… are you… alright?” he stuttered, paling and blushing at the same time, the effect an oddly mottled tone of pink on his skin. 

“I’m perfectly alright,” she said, smiling at him. 

“Ok,” he breathed, darting nervous glances at her, before handing her a scoop of the dung. His hands trembled, and suddenly, Hermione got the vivid impression that he was projecting his fear of Professor Snape onto her, expecting her to turn into his most feared teacher any moment.

The thought made her laugh, but that only seemed to make Neville even more nervous. Regaining her composure, she started working, thinking that the easiest way to calm down her friend would be to start working as normal. _ But oh, she supposed it would be a long time before her classmates treated her as normal. _Looking at Harry and Ron, she saw the two of them glancing away from her quickly and guiltily. 

Xxxx

Back in their quarters after dinner, her husband said playfully, but with a predatory glint in his eyes: “Madam Snape, the Aurors concluded that I haven’t taken advantage of my position, but right now, I’m going to enjoy my privileges as your husband very much.” 

A heady thrill shot through her, making her nipples harden almost instantly. He moved closer, looming over her, before he fisted one hand into her hair, bending her head backwards. His mouth came down, nuzzling the sensitive skin on her throat, and she gasped huskily: “Please, husband, please, oh, it feels so good!” 

There was a small growl, and his teeth nipped her skin, making her arch closer, the slight pain heightening the sensations racing through her. One large hand slid down, cupping her bum, and he rucked up her skirt, stroking her inner thighs. As his fingers made contact with the fabric of her knickers, she couldn’t help moaning, grinding against his fingers. 

A slow chuckle escaped him. “So excitable. The Ministry have no idea what a wanton wife you are. So hot, so ready for my attention, aren’t you?” 

“I am,” she whispered, still feeling a little awkward about using _ words _ to explain and describe how she felt when he touched her. It was all well and good that he did so, but the problem was when he expected a verbal response. _ For herself, she’d be just as happy if she could reply by moans and grunts. She felt inherently stupid, trying to express her arousal in words. Still, his words, telling her that she was a wanton witch, brought a flush of tingling pleasure through her body. _

Rubbing her knickers more firmly, he said with appraisal: “You’re soaking your knickers, you dirty girl. You obviously need to get them off, as not to ruin your clothes.” 

He pulled down her knickers to her thighs, before steering her towards his desk, bending her over. The rustle behind her told her, he was freeing his cock from his own clothing. _ To be taken like this, hurriedly bent over his desk, with almost all their clothing still on, felt… oh, so deliciously naughty. _

She shivered, arching her back and raising her bum, hips swaying enticingly, and to her satisfaction, he growled: “Can’t wait, can you, wife?” One large hand landed on her waist, holding her still, while the others led his cock to her opening. He pushed inside her with a groan, filling her up, and she marveled at how different this position felt. _ It was like he was bigger, stroking a different part of her insides. _

The hand that had steered his cock snaked around her hips to reach her crotch, fingers splaying open her nether lips. “So wet,” he mumbled, “so wantonly wet, you little minx.” 

His clever fingers rubbed her nub just so, and she squirmed against him, as he thrust hard into her, hips smacking into her arse. 

“Oh,” she moaned, voice getting higher in pitch, “oh, Severus, oh, please, more… Oh!” 

He grunted, hips moving faster against her, fingers stroking her firmly, her insides trembling, as the sensation of his cock and fingers heightened her arousal, driving her passion higher, and the tingling tremors in her belly grew, sharpening into a point of blinding bliss. 

Her orgasm hit her like a hurricane, tearing through her with shocks of pleasure, making her writhe in gasping ecstasy, and he groaned above her, cock jerking harshly inside, the hand gripping her waist almost bruising as he came too. 

Leaning over her back, now supporting himself on both arms on the desk, he mumbled: “You’re fantastic, Hermione. I can’t see what I did to deserve this, but I’m going to take all I can, all you’ll give me.” 

Her own heart hammering as she came down from her crest, she had no reply to that, only moving her head in a caress across his chest. 

Xxxx

  
  


After a quick shower, they sat down to have tea in front of the fireplace, the House-Elves having provided them with a mouth-watering meal of roast chicken, with a sauce of lemon juice and thyme. 

Between mouthfuls, he confessed to her, he actually had brewed an antidote for Veritaserum, though he had never registered it. “There are rumours, though, as several people have seen in use,” he remarked. 

She furrowed her brows. “I thought it was supposed to be impossible, that the only way to counteract the ingredients would be something lethal?” 

“Indeed,” he drawled, looking quite smug. “I overcame that particular problem, but the risk is still no trifling matter. In short, my antidote is the reason why Draco Malfoy is an only child. It destroys the fertility of both men and women, as well as some other, more passing pains.” 

Her eyes widened. “That’s how the Malfoys came off the hook after the first war! The Veritaserum proved their story of being Imperiused, while they were lying through their teeth because of your antidote?” Her look was accusing, and he shrugged. 

“The Malfoys were my friends, Death Eaters or no,” he said. “And the same goes for the Averys and the Rosiers.” 

“Your antidote let murderers escape scot-free!” 

He grimaced. “It did,” he conceded. “On the other hand, they aren’t … all bad. They were much like me, drawn in through silly, youthful rebellion.” 

“But they returned to him of their own free will. You didn’t.” 

“There’s that,” he said gravely. “I was, perhaps, wrong to give them the antidote. It’s a long time ago, Hermione, and I hope you won’t hold it against me.” 

She sighed, and climbed up into his lap, resting her head on his shoulder. _ He was a complicated man, her husband, and he had clearly done quite a few questionable things. Still, this private side of Severus Snape whom she had become acquainted with seemed to be a good man. _

Xxxx

The next evening, Severus dragged her up to Dumbledore’s office, but what happened was confusing at the best. 

“You owe me this, Albus, with what I have to do for _ you,” _ her husband almost snarled. “You’ll be our Bonder.” 

Up close, the old Headmaster looked even more frail than before, and his skin was now almost papery white, sagging with wrinkles, and Hermione couldn’t help wonder if those black spots she could see on his throat was the curse on his hand spreading. 

“Very well, Severus, if this is what you wish. You must know, this will change things too. I hope you will use this wisely, and still follow through our plans,” the old wizard answered cryptically. 

Her husband only nodded, before he turned to her, clasping her hand. Dumbledore waved his wand, making a thin, golden band stretch around their arms. 

“I, Severus Tobias Snape,” her husband intoned, “are making this Unbreakable Vow to my wife, Hermione Jean Granger Snape. I will never willingly hurt her, in any capacity, and no matter the circumstances, I will keep her and our child safe, protecting her to the best of my ability. On my life and magic, so it shall be.” 

She stared wide-eyed at him, as two more golden strands circled their arms, and settled into his skin like an invisible band. 

“What for?” she asked weakly. “You have already vowed to protect me by our marriage vows. Why this?” 

Severus didn’t meet her eyes, instead staring directly at Dumbledore. “I want you to know, Hermione, that no matter what happens, no matter what it seems like I’m doing, I’ll keep you safe. You can always trust me to keep your safety at heart. If you need me, I will protect you, at all costs.” 

“I believe you - already,” she said slowly. Looking from Severus to Dumbledore, she realized, there was something going on, that she was unaware of. By the looks of the two wizards, they meant to keep her in the dark too. 

Back in the dungeons, he gave her a small ring with a cracked stone. “This is a Port-key,” he said. “It’ll lead you straight into my house. If we’re… ever separated, if you need help, please use it. As you now know, I’ll do anything to keep you safe. Anything, Hermione.” 

xxxx

Slowly, they fell into the rhythm of a life together. In the evenings, he read, marked papers, while she studied, both of them enjoying a cup of tea in front of the fireplace - or in his case, a Firewhisky. The Scottish evenings were still cold in the deep dungeons of Hogwarts, and she enjoyed cuddling into his side as they read. Hermione found, they were evenly matched, both of them being voracious readers, with a need to discuss what they had read. She had never had such an engaging discussion partner. And somehow, she knew he felt the same way from the appraising glances he gave her when she scored a point.

To her surprise, he was always willing to answer any questions she might have pertaining her lessons and homework. _ That, she had never expected of him, but still, he seemed pleased to help her, like he really wanted her to succeed. _Her grades in Defense, though, had gotten better. But the only reason for that was the fact that the Headmaster now marked her essays, not her husband. 

“Excellent as always, Madam Snape,” he purred, after she had delivered a long and convoluted argument for how to control Fiendfyre. 

A few seats away, Draco Malfoy snorted derisively, and her husband pounced on him at once. “Did you want to join the discussion, Draco? Based on your previous … lack of successes… I’m not convinced you’d have anything at all to bring to the table concerning _ difficult, offensive _magic. You would be wise to leave such matters to your betters.” 

The class was silent, almost stunned. _ The Slytherin Head tearing into one of his own? Such a thing had never happened before. _

Hermione swallowed. From the corner of her eye, she saw Draco paling, before his mouth set in a bitter grimace. “No sir,” he said quietly. “I haven’t anything to add.” 

Severus arched his eyebrow, and turned to his Slytherins. “You will all be respectful towards _ my wife _, you hear me? I won’t tolerate any signs of a less than respectful behaviour. That goes for the rest of you too,” he added, shooting a glance at Harry and Ron. The boys looked shocked, like they couldn’t believe what had just passed. 

No matter how pleased she was with Severus putting down Draco, there was something that nagged her about the interaction. _ Like they were talking about something else too, that something was silently communicated between the two of them. _

Xxxx

Before they went to bed, they usually made love. His eagerness had been a surprise to her, like he couldn’t get enough of her, and she marvelled at the passion hidden behind his stern facade. She learned quickly that he set her orgasm first before his own, and that he wouldn’t leave her unsatisfied. He was also very willing to experiment, to vary their encounters, and during school days, her thoughts often wandered to memories of her husband, naked and sweaty, as they drove each other higher and higher. When night came, she was more than ready to receive him, and to give as good as she got. 

Hermione loved to fall asleep with her head on his firm chest, listening to his heartbeat as it slowed after the frantic pace of his orgasm. In the mornings, she would find that they were still entangled, often spooning, and sometimes, they took their time to have a quick shag before showering together. In short, she _ loved _ the life they were building together. 

One evening, as he pumped into her, her back resting against his chest, her legs slung out on each side of his thighs, his hands working her slippery clit towards her crest, he groaned: “Gods, Hermione, you feel so good around me, I love your tight, hot, wet cunt.” 

She had learned he preferred words like pussy, cunt and cock, and that felt very far from her own upbringing, where only medical terms had been used - if any private parts were mentioned at all. Still, when he talked dirty to her, it made hot waves crash through her belly. _ It was only fair, was it, to return the favour? _

“Please, Severus,” she moaned back, her cheeks flushing with a mix of shame and excitement, “you fill me up, it’s so good.” Clenching her muscles around him, she made his breath hitch, and his hips moving even faster. One hand frigged her nub, while the other fondled her left breast, and with the movements of his cock inside her, thrusting against a sweet spot inside, she came undone, trembling around his member, mumbling hoarsely: “Oh, Severus, oh, Seveeeruuus!” 

Her orgasm incited his, and he groaned as his cock jerked inside her: “Hermione, oh, I love you!” 

She stiffened, not being ready for such an admission, but as she rested against his chest, listening to his frantic heartbeat, his slowly softening cock still inside her, he repeated the words in a whisper: “I love you. Please believe me, whatever you will think of me.” 

Stunned, she wondered if she loved him or not. _ Did it matter? She cared for him, was there really a grading scale on love? _His hand rested on her belly, and he patted her, saying wistfully: “Soon, you’ll be able to feel movements.” 

Sighing, she rested her head on his shoulder, feeling his cock slide out of her with a rush of wetness. “I know.” Deciding the semantics and deeper meaning didn’t matter all that much, she muttered awkwardly: “I love you too, Severus.” 

The sharp intake of his breath told her, he set more store by this than herself, and she felt a little guilty for bandying about words that maybe didn’t mean the same to her as to him. 

Turning around, she let her hand trail over the hard planes of his chest. “Severus,” she mumbled, feeling curious and more than a little possessive. “Were there … many other witches between _ that _time and now?” 

He stiffened slightly, asking carefully: “Why do you want to know?” 

“Obviously, you had some practise,” she said, “and it was a long time.” 

“It was,” he agreed. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell you any details, mind.” 

“No, no,” she said hurriedly. “I .. just want to know if you had any relationships.” 

“Oh.” he was quiet for a while, before he said slowly: “There were brief encounters, and even lovers. Some of them for quite some time, but never a relationship. I never had … time.” 

“Just sex?” her voice was incredulous, and in her gut a sour feeling of jealousy churned, thinking about those witches that had enjoyed his body in the past. Still, it warred with an odd sort of jubilation. _ He didn’t have any real relationships, there was no real competition to herself. _

Xxxx

Her friendship with Ron and Harry was also on the mend, though the whispered conversations and odd glances among the other students kept up. As the weeks went by, the boys had started talking to her again. First in passing, and then they were actually seeking her out with a mumbled, awkward apology on a sunny day in June, outside in the pleasantly warm courtyard.

“It was a fucking shock,” Harry muttered, green eyes moving shiftily, “and I know I acted like an arse, alright? Sorry, Hermione, I just needed some time.” 

Ron nodded, red in the face, his shoes kicking up dust from between the flagstones. “It was a shock,” he agreed, his normally deep voice breaking into higher registers, like he was a much younger boy. 

She sighed, exasperated. “You were both arses, and I really shouldn’t forgive you, you know?” But then she smiled at them, feeling happy that they actually for once had apologized, however clumsily. 

“Come on, join me in the library. The Transfiguration exam tomorrow will be horrid, I’m sure.”

Sighing deeply, the boys trailed after her into the dark library, leaving the sunny courtyard behind. Hermione furrowed her brow as she thought about the Transfiguration. McGonagall had relented and treated her as any other student, though it wasn’t like before. She had always felt as if she was an unspoken favorite, but now, McGonagall acted unfailingly correct and polite, like she was a regular student. _ It felt like a loss, though, because she had really enjoyed her between-classes conversations with the old witch. _

Still, McGonagall watched her, almost scrutinized her, and Hermione felt like she was keeping an eye out for her, looking to see if Severus treated her right. _ Somehow, that felt good, to know someone watched over her, and on the other hand, it made her angry on her husband’s behalf. _

The boys proved to be very protective, offering to carry her books, pulling her chair, constantly asking her if she was alright, or if she needed to rest, interrupting her revising. 

“Honestly,” she sighed, putting her homework down with a thunk, making Madam Pince scowl at her. “I’m fine. You hear me, I’m _ fine_! No, he doesn’t abuse me, no, he isn’t evil, no, he’s not forcing me to do anything I don’t want to. He’s a good man, and I’m happy. Let’s just leave it at that, will you?” 

The librarian tapped the sign on her desk ominously with her wand. The sign read: _ Silence in the library, or you will be hexed. _

Harry shrugged, whispering awkwardly, trying to avoid more attention from the stern Madam Pince: “We just want to look out for you, Hermione. That’s what friends do, you know? It’s good that you’re happy, but even you have to admit, this is a bit odd.” 

Snorting, she replied: “I can see the surprise element, believe me, but he is treating me nice. No Ron, he’s not as snarky in private as he is in the classroom. Severus is ...nice.”

The boys rolled their eyes, and Ron laughed: “If you say so, ‘Mione. Though I’d be more willing to believe You-Know-Who to pose for the Witch Weekly’s Wizard-of-the-year, than Snape being … _ nice_.” 

“Eww,” she said, scrunching her nose, before laughing helplessly. “You think You-Know-Who would pose naked?” 

Harry sputtered. “Merlin, Hermione, are you trying to make me lose my lunch?” 

“Out!” screeched Madam Pince. “The library isn’t a place for chats and jokes! Leave, before I’m banning you for the rest of the week” 

Gathering up their books, they left, still laughing between themselves. 

Xxxx

In short, life had turned out to be good. Though she was nervous as always for her exams, it went alright, and Severus proved to be able to calm her down. Somehow, knowing that he - Hogwarts most exacting and difficult teacher - thought she’d do fine, calmed her more than any other reassurance the boys or other teachers had ever given her before. 

In the evening, she made it a habit to check on the baby with him. Casting a spell to give her the vitals of their child, they both watched with wonder as the pulsing lights showed the baby’s heartbeat. 

“It makes it more real,” he whispered, cradling her into his arms, her back to him. “You’ve barely showing, and this - this - it proves that inside, there’s a new life, our child, growing, thriving and developing. The child we made.” 

“I know,” she said softly, patting her tiny bump, like she was caressing her baby. The emotion welled up, and she sniffled. _ Their child. With the man she had grown to care a lot for, maybe even love. _ As he kissed her hair, she felt as if her heart were bursting with joy. _ An unplanned child from a strange encounter - it could have been so much worse. Instead, she was happy, and her husband loved her. The world looked so bright, even under the shadow of Voldemort. _

During the last days of school, she was busy planning what lessons she could do next year when the baby came, plus doing a thorough research on the possibilities of taking her NEWTS without following the lesson plans. 

Then, on 30 June, Severus unexpectedly killed Dumbledore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh. Buckle up for angst.


	6. Hunger Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a moment, they stood still, both of them, just taking in each other. She thought he looked far older, exhausted even, with dark circles around his eyes, like he hadn’t been sleeping well for ages. But as he looked at her, his sallow face flushed slightly, and there was a fleeting look of soft vulnerability in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmm, angst...

The boys had fully taken her in again, as well as the rest of the Weasleys, and _ Merlin_, was she grateful. Her own sorrow and devastation was too much to bear, after Severus had fled Hogwarts on that dark night. She needed someone to care for her, to hold her together, simply put.

Right now, everything she had believed in, everything she had spent years standing up to her friends for, telling them to trust Dumbledore, that Severus Snape was on their side, had proven to be wrong. _ And failure was something Hermione Granger didn’t do_. Severus had publicly humiliated her, but the feeling of betrayal was the worst. She had cared for him, she had been attracted to him, maybe even loved him, and she found it hard to believe the man she had gotten to know as her husband was a callous, cold-hearted traitor who had betrayed them all. _ Though obviously, he had. In a way_, she supposed, _ he had broken her heart, not only her trust. _

The summer day was rainy, and she was staring morosely on the window panes at the Burrow, droplets sliding down the surface, the garden covered in a dreary, grey mist. 

“Hey, would you like to join us for Exploding Snap?” Ron’s voice had a forced cheer to it, but his smile was real. 

“Maybe,” she said heavily, but she didn’t move away from the love seat in front of the window. 

The pillows sank down, as Ron’s weight was added to her own, and his arm came around her shoulders. “You know, it’s not your fault,” he said slowly, tone low as not to be overheard by the rest of the Weasleys. 

Molly was knitting and softly humming to herself, while Arthur was gently snoring in a chair by the fireplace. Ginny was reading, legs thrown over the armrest of a squashy, red armchair, and Harry was shuffling the cards, looking expectantly at her and Ron. 

She gave off a shuddering sigh. “He tricked me.” 

“No one could know…” Ron started, but she interrupted him: 

“He _ betrayed _me, my trust, and … the baby.” 

Ron huffed slightly, before saying: “You can say that again. He betrayed us all.” 

“I should have known. You and Harry never believed him, I should have trusted you,” she whispered, those damnable tears pooling in her eyes again. 

Ron patted her head. “I’m not going to say ‘we told you so’, whatever you say, Hermione. Because really, no one could imagine him doing … that. You could never have known, no one could.” 

Harry cleared his throat, and then Molly lifted her head. 

“Are you hungry, Hermione?” 

Molly Weasley had been coddling her, making her special dishes to tempt her appetite, but the only thing she managed to force down these days, was buttered toast and tea. Politely, she smiled and shook her head. 

The red-headed witch tutted. “You must take care of yourself, Hermione. Please consider eating, you’re supposed to eat for two, remember?” 

With a kind smile, she rose from her chair, disappearing into the kitchen, and soon, the whistle from the tea kettle was heard. “I’ll fix you some scones and jam,” she shouted, “enough for the two of you!” 

Hermione groaned, as she for just _ a second _ would have loved to forget that she carried the child of Albus Dumbledore’s murderer in her belly. _ She would have been positively delighted if someone could Obliviate her memories of being happily married to Severus Snape. Because, it was hard to just shut off her feelings. She had come to care for him, and she so wanted to believe it wasn’t all that bad. Like somewhere in the universe, there should exist a rational explanation for what he had done, an excuse of momentous proportions. But it was no use. She’d have to purge her thoughts, because no such excuse existed, she’d have to purge her heart for all feelings she had for him, except hatred. _

Those days when they were actually making plans, felt better. Sitting together on Ron’s narrow bed, a threadbare blanket around them to stave of the clammy cold that seemed to permeate this summer, pouring over maps, books and lists, she felt useful. _Not like a naïve nuisance, who had managed to get herself pregnant by the second-worst wizard in Britain. _

Though sometimes, the boys brought it up during planning too. 

“Hermione, having a baby on the run might be harder than you think,” Ron said, blue eyes watching her carefully. 

“I’ll manage,” she snapped, “I’m reading up and preparing, you know!” 

“Still, things might go wrong, and Harry and I aren’t exactly mediwizards,” Ron continued, looking worried. “And lack of sleep, food and everything… It’s not easy caring for a small baby, Hermione.”

“It’s not like I can waltz into St. Mungos anyway,” she said bitterly. “Then _ he’ll _know, Death Eaters might come, and…” 

“Still, if you stayed here with Mum, she’ll know what to do, and you’ll be safe, the baby too…” Ron said weakly.

“Pah!” Harry spat. “It’s just one small baby, Ron, and come on, it’s _ Hermione. _ If anyone can manage, it’s her. She always has a plan, and she’s going to organize everything. This is going to work. Right, Hermione?” 

“Yes,” she nodded, glaring at Ron. 

“Still, Mum knows babies, Hermione, she’ll be able to help you.” 

“He’ll come looking for me,” Hermione said darkly, “if - _ when _ \- Voldemort seizes power. Being here will put your family in danger, Ron, because I will be a prime target to get to Harry. No one can know where you, me or Harry are.” 

Ron shrugged, his expression half fearful and relieved, morphing into guilt as he said: 

“It’s not that I don’t want you to come along, Hermione, because we need you, but I’m still worried. None of us know anything about babies. I only know it’s a lot of work.” 

“We’ll learn,” she said firmly, closing the discussion. _ Still, she wished that she was as confident as Harry. This was… new territory, uncharted, and she had a nagging suspicion that books couldn’t really prepare her for the reality of a newborn. _

Summer went by in a haze of depression, lone crying bouts, brooding and forced cheer among her friends, but she managed to shake herself out of it when they had to flee Bill and Fleur’s wedding. It was like the harshest of wakeup-calls, and she felt like she could put her own problems aside. _ There were bigger fishes to fry than her own feeling of being stupid and betrayed. _

At 12 Grimmauld Place time ticked ever so slowly, like she and the boys were not really a part of the world anymore. Though she was gradually getting heavier, she had no problems with her pregnancy, feeling strong and alert. Still, she felt that nagging worry, trying to read up as much as she could to perform the necessary check-ups on herself and the baby, hoarding the old medical books in the Black library in her beaded bag for future reference. The baby kicked her in the ribs with a reassuring frequency, and every night, she crooned softly to the child, stroking her distended belly. _Inside, she still felt conflicted. At times, thoughts popped up of how she wanted Severus to be there, to feel the movements of their baby, but she ruthlessly quashed those thoughts down with a vengeance. _

The tent, though, after their Ministry break-in and subsequent reveal of Grimmauld Place by the Death Eater Yaxley, proved to be a harsher condition. The constant moving about, the heavy spell-casting as she did all their warding, staying awake on guard duty left her feeling drained and tired, and wearing that damned locket didn’t help either. 

The lack of food was also troubling, though she pretended not to notice that Harry and Ron slipped her the larger portion of their scarce food supplies. _ She felt bad about it, though she was not about to refuse it, knowing her baby needed the extra energy. _

“These days, I’m more trouble than help,” she said morosely to the boys, as she gnawed on the bones of the thin rabbit they had caught in an enchanted snare. The small fire flickered, giving little warmth in the cold November evening. 

“No, no,” the boys chorused, though she saw the quick look they shared across the fire. They looked thin, drawn and haggard, and hot shame burned in her, seeing their clothes hanging off their now bony frames. 

“You’re the brains of our operations,” Harry said reassuringly, “we couldn’t have done the things we do, if not for you.” 

She put down the scrawny bones carefully, knowing that they had to save them for making broth the next day. Her swollen ankles hurt, and she wished she still was able to reach her feet. Asking the boys to rub her ankles felt like … well, she was sure they’d do it, but still, it felt like an imposition. 

“Hear, hear,” Ron said, markedly unenthusiastic, but he was also wearing the Horcrux for the time being. She _ knew _ how that affected the mood, and she constantly worried if wearing it could harm her baby. _ If she only had been a little smarter, more experienced, then she would have managed to give substantial help to their cause. Severus would have… _ She cut the thought off brutally, concentrating instead on the twinges in her back. _ Was there any regularity to it? Could this be… _

Half an hour later, she was quite sure. It was the 21 November, and her child would be early by one week. 

Gritting her teeth, she informed the boys. Their panicked squeaking and nervous twitching was exactly like she had expected, but at least they didn’t go running into the woods, like she had feared in her worst nightmares. 

Ron held her hand and Harry crouched by her belly, as she screamed through the contractions and the pushing. After three hours, she had her beautiful, dark-haired baby boy on her chest, his little nose vibrating as he sniffed at her breast. _ Black hair, like Severus_, she thought, and her heart swelled in that aching pain she always felt when thinking of him. 

While her son was adorable, she could still feel there were things to take care of. “_Conferumino! _ ” she said, waving her wand at her nether parts in the complicated pattern she had perfected. Absolutely nothing happened. Furrowing her brows, she tried again: “_Conferumino!” _

She could still feel her abused sex, the pain throbbing where her son had ripped her apart, and exasperated, her head sank back into her pillow. “Why doesn’t it work?” she complained, hearing her own hoarse, whiny voice. 

“You can’t Heal yourself like that, Hermione,” Ron said gently, patting her shoulder. “Healing spells needs a lot of strength from the caster, and you haven’t got the energy right now.” 

Tears began leaking out of her eyes, and she sobbed: “What? I’ve read all about it, no one said that it wouldn’t work!” 

“Hermione, everyone knows this, that’s why. It’s just the way magic works,” Ron answered, voice still gentle, as he stroked her son’s tiny head. 

Her voice became high and shrill: “Everyone? Why don’t they just fucking say so in the books?” 

Ron shook his head. “No one gives birth like this, anyways. Everyone goes to St. Mungos, or get a midwitch to their home. No one expects to do it themselves.” 

Harry chimed in: “Teach us the spell, Hermione, we’ll do it for you.” 

Consequently, she spent the first twenty minutes of her son’s life to teach the boys how to Heal damage done from birthing. 

Exhausted, but Healed, she rested on her now thankfully clean bed, her bodily aches gone. 

“I want to name him…” she started, but Ron gasped: “Don’t!” 

She blinked, seeing Harry looking equally surprised. 

“If you do, Snape will know he’s born!” Ron said with a panicked look. 

“How?” she said, wondering where Ron all of a sudden seemed so knowledgeable about these things. Then again, he was a Pure-blood. _ Maybe it was one of those Pure-blood culture things. He just knew, because it was tradition_, she supposed. 

“First, because both he and you will get a Ministry owl as confirmation of his registered name, the only requirement for this to happen will be saying the baby’s name out loud, and second, because he’ll see the name in the Hogwarts Acceptance book. He’s Headmaster now, remember?” 

_ As if she could forget. _Instead, she said slowly: “Thank you, Ron, I had no idea. I won’t name him, then, he’ll have to be baby, little one or tiny for a long while, then.” 

Xxxx

Christmas was hellish, the boys going off on a jaunt to Godrics Hollow, ending with Harry getting his wand snapped, and then they mysteriously got the Sword of Gryffindor. 

“It’s the doe again,” Harry said excitedly, as he and Ron returned. 

She hadn’t even noticed that they had taken off, as she had been napping with her son on her chest in the tent, huddling underneath a pile of blankets. 

“I know it has something to do with my parents!” he continued, light shining in his eyes. 

“Other people have a doe Patronus too,” she mumbled, brows furrowing in confusion, knowing very well who actually had one, and who had access to that Sword. _ Come to think of it, why did he have a doe? It wasn’t really something she’d associate with him. _

“I know,” Harry said confidently. “It’s my Dad’s Patronus. He saved us.” 

“All I’m saying,” she shrugged with pretended calm - _ because this was, after all, only her foolish heart trying to trick her into believing her husband was on their side, against all evidence - _ “people usually Manifests as ghosts, not as their Patronuses. Though who knows? It’s magic, after all.” _ Harry’s Patronus theory was so unlikely, but so was her theory too. There was no doubt, Severus was a true Death Eater. But who else had access to the Sword? _

Still, she hadn’t the energy to think much about it. It was much too cold in the tent, as maintaining the Warming Charms in the bitter January cold took too much of their energy, and food was hard to come by. Her son was crying a lot in the evenings and during the night, and she could tell, it was starting to affect the boys too. Sleep was almost non-existent, and she was tired and hungry. It felt like there was something constantly gnawing on her insides, the only break from that feeling was the bouts of sharper hunger pains in her stomach. Hermione knew, the boys felt the same way. 

Though thankfully, the Horcrux was gone, leaving them free from its mood-altering properties and the feeling of an oppressive weight around their necks, but her emotions were still all over the place. She cried at the smallest setback, snapped at the boys for nothing, and laughed too long and too hard for the silliest things. The books she had read, hadn’t prepared her for the reality of the hormonal aftereffects of the birth, and she had genuinely thought she was much too rational to be affected by her hormones. _ Clearly, that wasn’t the case, and she felt like she was forever apologizing to the boys for being either in the way, like a useless sobbing thing, or for her sudden outbursts of anger. _

By the middle of January, her milk was on the decrease, due to the lack of food, and her baby’s tiny face was always scrunched up, whimpering, ready to cry at any moment. She felt awful, like she wasn’t able to provide properly for her child, and she knew, her little son was hungry. _ And she loved him, loved that warm, tiny body snuggling into her so much, like her heart would burst with joy and sadness at the same time. Loved him more than anything, even more than her own life. Seeing him suffer was … _

And by the worried faces of the boys, they knew it too. One night, Harry and Ron sat down with her in front of their tiny fire. 

Harry grasped her hand, his fingers so thin, the bones sticking out of his wrist, making the joint seem too large for his arm. 

Bluntly, Harry said: “We’ve talked about the situation, Hermione. You need to go somewhere safe, making sure you get enough food and warmth for the two of you. This, starving the baby, is just not something we can continue doing.” 

“Yes,” Ron followed up, “we think it’ll be the easiest to steal a boat, sending you to France. You’ll be safe there.” 

She blinked at them. “You know,” she said weakly, “there IS surveillance on the borders. Not only magical, but Muggle too. Honestly, everyone knows that!” 

“Still, we’re worried about you. If you go to the Burrow, or to Bill’s house, you’ll risk both yours and their life,” Harry said, looking very serious. “We know you wouldn’t do that.” 

“You’re right, I won’t” she said softly. _ In truth, she had thought about it for a while now. She was not about to see her son wither and die, if there was any other opportunity. And there was, but not to her liking_. _Still, her dignity was a small price to pay for her son’s safety. _

Clearing her throat, she said, looking straight in their eyes: “I’ll go to him. He won’t harm me.” 

“Him?” Harry said, looking confused, but Ron almost shouted: “No! He’ll betray you, kill you!” 

“He won’t,” she said, telling them about the Unbreakable Vow her husband had made. 

Ron and Harry shared a glance.

“He really did that?” Harry whispered, looking incredulous. 

She confirmed by a small nod. 

“Why? I can’t see his strategy, it makes no sense.” Ron scratched his head, bewilderment on his face. 

She shrugged. “I know. Maybe I can do some good spying, and we can use the coins to communicate. You’ll know more, and you don’t have to worry about me and my little one anymore. We’ll be safe.” 

The boys shared another dark look, before they both shook their heads. Harry offered, suspicion on his face: “Maybe it’s to protect himself. He wants to keep you, to … fuck you, and he needs a waterproof way of not having to kill you. On orders, you know.” 

Sighing, she replied: “That may very well be so, but still, I’ll be safe. And I can slip you information, and I’ll probably get access to the Hogwarts Library again.” 

Both of them glanced too quickly at the sleeping child on her shoulder, and she could tell: _ They didn’ think she’d have the time to do research. _ And her thoughts spiralled off again: _ That’s how useless I am right now. _

Xxxx

The ring with the cracked stone glowed blue for a moment, and she gave a shaky smile to the boys, seeing their worried faces as the Port-key whisked her and her son away. 

She landed in an old house, in a dusty, cramped, unfamiliar living room, filled with books and tomes. Staggering, she almost lost her balance, smashing her hip against a wingback chair. She winced at the pain, and her son made a small sound, but settled down into sleep again on her shoulder. 

Checking her surroundings, she could find nothing dangerous in the immediate vicinity, though all doors to the rest of the house were locked. The bookshelves drew her in, and she breathed in the scent of parchment, dust and leather as if it perfume, her eyes moving hungrily over the stacked scrolls and tomes with leather bindings. 

Then, there was a resounding CRACK! behind her, and she swirled around, meeting the black eyes of her husband. 

For a moment, they stood still, both of them, just taking in each other. She thought he looked far older, exhausted even, with dark circles around his eyes, like he hadn’t been sleeping well for ages. But as he looked at her, his sallow face flushed slightly, and there was a fleeting look of soft vulnerability in his eyes. 

She knew very well what _ he _saw, though. By now, she was bone thin, pale, her hair a matted and ragged mess, and her clothes looked much too big for her. She was no prize at the moment, either. 

Then he took a step forward, eyes looking to her shoulder, at her son. 

“Is it…” his voice was hoarse, like he was overcome with emotion. 

“Yes,” her own voice was a reedy whisper in response. 

“Can I…?” he made a flopping motion with his arms, and she nodded. _ If she was going to do this, then she would have to trust him with holding her son. Their son. _

He took the baby reverently, cradling him in the crook of his arm, his face radiating a tenderness she never thought him able to show. “Hello, little one,” he said softly, rocking their son gently, hunching over him. A sleepy eye opened, dark eyes meeting black eyes, and a half-choked sigh escaped the man who was her husband: ”My son…!” 

Straightening himself, Severus gave her a quick glance, before speaking very clearly: “I name you Augustus Severus Snape.” 

“What?” she said, her voice a fierce, furious whisper, keeping her voice down to not wake the baby. “You dare name him, without even asking me?” 

He still stared at his son, saying softly: “It’s about time he got a name. You haven’t seen fit to name him for close to two months, at the least, so I named him in the tradition of my family. We go by Roman first names, and the father’s name as second name.” 

“It’s not bad,” she conceded grudgingly, “but I should think this was to be a mutual decision. And I didn’t name him, because I didn’t know what _ you’d _do when you realized he was born.” 

His head snapped to her, rage flaring up in his eyes, and he hissed: “And how did you think I felt, when there was no Ministry message, no entry in the Hogwarts’ rolls? I can count, you know, I knew when your due date was! I thought he might have died, or that you had terminated the pregnancy, or that _ you _ might have died! I was worried _ sick _ ! For the baby, and for _ you _!” 

Her own anger faltered in the face of his, and suddenly, she felt like raging over a name was petty, compared to what he must have felt. _ Because the baby was so much more important than themselves. Even more than the war. She supposed, he might feel that way too. _ But then her fury surged back, and she almost barked out: “How would I have known that you’d care? You lied to me, the entire time! The only reason I’m here is because I’m _ starving_, and so is he!” 

At that, he flinched visibly. “I see,” he said tonelessly. “I will help you, to keep you safe. What do you need? Food? Healthcare Potions? Galleons?” 

“No,” she said, suddenly feeling her bone-deep exhaustion, her shoulders slumping. “I need a safe place to stay, with enough food to keep my lactation going. A place where … _ Augustus _… will be safe. I can’t do it, being on the run all the time. It’s not good enough for him. The stress, the lack of food, the sleeplessness… I’m not a good enough mother to him, when our circumstances are like that. Severus … I need your help.” 

“And you shall have it,” he said quietly. 

Relief coursed through her, so much stronger and overwhelming than she had anticipated, and she felt tears starting to leak, her silly hormones making themselves known again. “Oh,” she said stupidly, feeling her body starting to tremble. Her hand flew up to her mouth, and she repeated: “Oh.” 

He looked at her, then, worry on his face, and he reached out a hand as if to steady her. She backed away from him, her legs hitting the sofa, and she fell down, almost crumpling, as she again whimpered, rocking slightly as she sat. _ Augustus would be safe. That was all that mattered. _

He knelt before her, their son still in his arms, peering into her face, saying: “Hermione. Listen to me. You are safe. I will not let you come to any harm, nor my son. You will be safe. We’ll talk about this in the morning. Now, let me draw you a bath, then you’ll eat something, and after that, you can sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning. I’ll handle this, trust me.” 

Xxxx

The next morning, she felt better, stronger and more refreshed than she had in a long time. 

The night before, he had given her a Nourishment Potion, and while she was in the bath, he had made her a light broth and given their son a bottle of milk. When she had eaten, she felt drowsy, and he led her to a bedroom upstairs, letting her curl up with her milk-dazed little boy, before closing the bedroom door softly. She barely noticed him going downstairs again before she fell asleep. Little Augustus - _ she could get used to that name - _only woke twice in the night for feeding instead of the usual five times, and she had slept soundly in between. 

After their morning feeding, she pattered downstairs with her son on her shoulder, following the smell of delicious bacon, tea and eggs. 

“Good morning,” he said, face blank and emotionless, looking briefly up from the frying pan. 

“Good morning,” she replied, her stomach rumbling in hunger again. 

“Breakfast is almost ready,” and he gestured to the kitchen table. She sat down, waiting, as he pottered about, serving her a full plate. 

Looking at the baby, he asked: “Do you usually eat with him on your shoulder?” 

Humourlessly, she retorted: “I usually don’t eat much, so yes.” 

Shaking his head, he muttered: “You should have come earlier.” Waving his wand, he Conjured a crib beside her chair, and nodded to her: “Put him down. You need your strength. Now eat.” 

Carefully, she put her baby down, smiling softly at the sleepy face of her son, tucking him into a soft green blanket, before ravenously attacking her breakfast. It tasted so good, but to her disappointment, she couldn’t manage more than half the plate before she was full. 

“One egg, one rasher of bacon, half a sausage and five bites of a toast,” Severus said, displeasure on his face. “We’ll need to feed you often and little to get you back in shape. This won’t do.” 

She sighed, downing the rest of her tea, saying: “I know. We’ve been starving since October, really.” 

“Augustus seems to be in shape, though,” he said, “so clearly, he has taken what he needed from you. But this could only go on for so long, or he would have suffered too.” 

Shame burned on her cheeks, and she mumbled: “I know. I never wanted to harm him, you must know that.” 

_ The truth was, seeing herself in the bathroom mirror last night had been a fright. Her hip bones and ribs stood out starkly, her parchment yellow, dry skin stretched out over her frame, and her breasts had started to shrink from their milk-swollen size. In short, she looked like she was ill. Terminally so. _

“No matter, you’ll get all the food and health care you need,” he said curtly. “But, we must talk. Are you ready for that?” 

She glanced at her baby, seeing him fast asleep. Smoothing the blanket over his feet, she sighed: “I suppose so.” 

“The safest way to do this, will be if you join me at Hogwarts. Then, both the castle and I can protect you. However, this means your compliance.” 

“My compliance?” she asked, eyes narrowing. “I will not agree to join _ your _side, not ever!” 

He grimaced. “I’m not asking you to do that!” he barked. 

She could see he was making an effort to rein in his temper, by clenching and unclenching his hands. “To keep you completely safe, I need you to _ pretend _to in public. You’ll act like my good, submissive little Death Eater wife, while in private, you can do as you please. Then, no one will be prying, and it will satisfy the Dark Lord, if he knows that you are under my control.” 

Snorting, she replied: “Why would he believe that, all of a sudden? Won’t he rather wish to kill me or torture me?” 

Arching his eyebrows, he said: “He will believe. One, because he’s a rather … sexist… traditionalist, believing that it’s up to a husband to control _ and _punish his wife, and two, because he’ll readily believe the truth: You came back to me with your tail between your legs, asking for forgiveness.” 

She sputtered: “I’m not asking for your forgiveness!” 

He smirked. “I know. But that’s a believable though slightly altered version of the truth, because you did return to me, asking for my help. The best lies are always cloaked in a half-truth.” 

Mulling it over, she realized he was right. Sceptically, she asked: “And I can do whatever I want in private, without you hanging over my shoulder? Reading what I want, going about Hogwarts as I want, even staying in touch with people as I want too?” 

“Yes, as long as you stay true to our public image. You can’t tell Molly Weasley or Minerva that you’re acting in public, for example.” 

_ It would be very humiliating, and frustrating too, she could very well imagine. People would try to talk to her, to save her, to give her options, and she would have to turn them down, not telling them it was all make-believe. Her reputation would be in ruins. _

In his crib, her son yawned, smacking his lips a little, and stretched his arms, before falling asleep again. Her eyes filled with tears. _ It was worth it, to keep him safe. To be safe with her son. _

“I’ll agree to that,” she said, eyes still on her son. “Is there anything else to this? And what do you get out of this?” 

There was a short pause, and she heard him shuffling his feet. “Yes, well…” The words were drawn out, like he didn’t want to say it. 

Lifting her eyes to his face, she asked: “What is it?” 

“There’s … a very real chance, the Dark Lord will wish to see you. He’ll most certainly use Legilimency on you. I need you to _ be _ my wife, in every sense of the word. The Dark Lord will be sniffing after it, wanting to know if you submit to me fully. If he sees memories of us having _ carnal _relations, in all likelihood, he’ll look no further as to what you really believe.” 

She looked at him, feeling stunned. “He’ll check if we have sex?” 

“Like a proper husband and wife,” he answered, staring straight ahead. His cheeks were flushed, though, and she could feel herself blushing too. _ Sex, with him. He was a murderer, a vile betrayer of everything she believed in. And all this, to keep her son safe. But really, there was no choice to it. Her son was more important. _

Shaking herself, like she tried to brush of something vile and slimy from her body, she snarled, with distaste written on her face: “If I must. But don’t expect me to enjoy it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have thought that their stay at Grimmauld and in the tent felt a bit rushed, and you're not wrong. The thing is, I'm following canon here on what happened at the Ministry and in the tent up to the birth, and... why write this, when Rowling already did? So, I chose to skip lightly over those parts. I hope you forgive me for the sake of the story. (Also, I found those parts of Deathly Hallows frankly boring...)
> 
> But yay, Severus and Hermione are back together!


	7. Return to Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s worth it, she told herself, nuzzling her son’s dark hair, it’s worth it, to keep him safe, protected and healthy. Still, this act hurt more than she had imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still angsty, actually very angsty. You remember the dubcon-tag, right?

Within the hour, she was installed in the Headmaster’s quarters at Hogwarts. The rooms were spacious and airy, and the view was unparallelled, with the view of the far, snowy mountains in the distance and the lake glittering nearby. 

Inside, there was a flurry of activity. A crib was set up in the bedroom, as well as thick, colourful play carpets on the floors in the living room and in the private library. She almost swooned as she saw the library, vowing to herself to get an overview over the contents within the week, feeling a flutter of excitement. 

Pillows for nursing, magical diapers that Vanished anything a baby might produce, new clothes for both her and the baby, nursing pads and even a pump to increase her milk production were delivered, while she and her son bemused watched the ruthless efficiency of the House-elves, four of them working hard to make the rooms suitable for a baby. 

After a while, her husband swooped in, nodding at her, asking: “Is everything here? Do you need anything else?” 

“I can’t think of anything,” she answered truthfully, making the elves beam at her. 

“Good,” he said, and turning to the elves, he said: “She’s to eat every two hours for the next week, barring the night. Make sure she gets whatever she wants. We need her strength back, you see?” 

“Yes, Master!” the elves chorused, one of them disappearing and reappearing with a loud POP, serving up a bowl of broth and a fresh roll dripping with butter to Hermione. 

”Excellent,” he said, making the elves grin even more. “One of you will be the Mistress’ attendant, helping her whenever she needs it with the baby. You can decide between yourselves who will take up the task.” 

The elves looked uncertainly at each other, before the small elf named Tinny stepped forward, ears hanging down: “We all want to, Master, elves loves babies.” 

“Oh, so you can’t decide amongst yourselves, is it?” he said, a small smile on his face. 

The elves nodded fervently. 

“Then, you’ll take the matter before your High Matron, and she’ll make the decision.”

“Yes, Master!” The sound of their words were hanging in the room even after they had disappeared, and then her son wailed by the disturbance. Luckily, Severus disappeared to let her nurse in private, and while her son burbled and cooed on her shoulder after his meal, she tapped a message to Harry and Ron on her coin to tell them she was alright. 

The response was immediate, coin flashing brightly in the morning sun: “Are you sure?” 

She hesitated for a moment, before tapped: “Yes. For now.” 

Xxxx

Half an hour before dinner, Severus reappeared. “Did your check-up with Madam Pomfrey go alright?” 

“Yes,” she said with a grimace. 

_ The school nurse had looked at her with something akin to pity and horror. “I’m supposed to do a Health check on you, child,” she said gently. “And … your husband … asked me, especially, to give an assessment if you are fit to continue with your … marital relations.” _

_ “Oh,” Hermione replied, feeling uncomfortably embarrassed. He would, wouldn’t he? He had always cared about her health and well-being, even though this was probably more for his own pleasure than for hers. “I think I’m alright. We managed the spells after the birth.” _

_ “I’m sure you did,” Madam Pomfrey said soothingly, making complicated wand movements over her body, clucking her tongue as a few digits flashed red. _

_ “You need to eat more, girl, as you’re malnourished. Are you still nursing?” _

_ “Yes,” she nodded. _

_ “Then, you need to eat better from now on. I’ll give the elves a prescription for your meals, and you’ll need to take some Nourishing potions. I’m sure the Headmaster will provide for you in that respect. Otherwise, you seem to be fine. That is, including your nether parts.” _

_ Hermione made a small moue of distaste, though she had been sure before. _

_ Madam Pomfrey’s kind voice faltered slightly, as she said: “Please, come and tell me, if there’s anything wrong. If he treats you badly... No witch should stand for that, and he’s not … what I used to think of him.” _

“Nice to know,” he said with a frown of his own. “She told me, by the way, that you are alright. I will, of course, brew your potions.” 

“Thank you,” she said stiffly, not meeting his eyes. Biting down on her tongue, she managed to hold back what she wanted to say: _ Don’t mix up the Contraception Potion this time. _Then again, she didn’t want to give him any ideas of her being eager, or even compliant for that sort of thing. _But she's make sure to check and double-check anything he gave her. She wasn't about to be tricked by a potion again, like what had happened with the Fertility Potion. _

“You need to get dressed for dinner,” he added, looking critically at her. 

“Dressed?” she asked with furrowed brows. “I need to dress up?” 

“You need to look the part,” he said with a sarcastic quirk of his lips, like he wasn’t proud of what he was going to say, “of the Death Eater Headmaster’s _ dutiful _little wife.” 

Blinking, she followed him into the bedroom. To tell the truth, she hadn’t looked much at the clothes the elves had brought for her, paying attention to the wonderful library instead. 

Opening the cabinet, she sighed deeply. “I can’t wear any of this!” 

“Oh, you will, “ he said, “and you’ll play the part, just like you agreed to.” 

She threw him an exasperated glance, before pulling out a few dresses. This was very far from what she’d dress in of her own volition. Black or grey silks interspersed with laces, and cuts that would show off way too much bosom, all of them with tight, form fitting, laced waist.

“Really,” she mumbled, shucking off her shoes, jeans and her sweater, standing before him in her underwear. His breath caught, and she felt herself blush as she met his stare. Eyes burning at her, she could tell, he wanted her, _ right now_. As he took a step towards her, his tall form suddenly seeming very threateningly, she reminded him with an undignified squeak: “Dinner!” 

Backing away from him, she lifted up one of the dresses, holding it up against her as a shield. Her husband paused, looking somewhat irritated, and she suddenly wondered: _ Would he force her, in bed? He obviously wanted her still, but he had always been respectful and caring for her needs. Now, he might think it wasn’t necessary, since she had stated clearly, she didn’t want him anyway. _

Her heart hammering in her throat, she scrambled to drag the dress over her head, feeling it snag in her hair, before she tugged it down. Magically, it tightened to fit her waist, and she felt it shrink to give an exact fit, following her curves. 

_ Gods, this wasn’t much better. She felt incredibly exposed, the dress dipping deep into her cleavage, while magically pushing her breasts up. In short, she looked exactly what the Prophet would say was the spitting image of a female Death Eater. She looked like she had tried to dress up like … Bellatrix Lestrange. _ A small shudder went through her. 

“You look … ravishing,” he said hoarsely, eyes still hot, _ leering _ at her in a way that made her feel too warm. _ He _ ** _liked _ ** _ her looking like this. Somehow, it made her feel disappointed, like he should have been .. better. _

Stepping forward he Summoned a silver necklace from a chest of drawers, lifting up her hair to place it around her neck. His touch was featherlight, but it made her shiver, all the same. The necklace was long, with an emerald pendant nestling on the swell of her chest, accentuating her cleavage even more. 

“Now, Summon an elf to do your hair, and we can go downstairs.” 

Xxxx 

Standing beside him, trying hard to look as cowed and submissive as she could, she endured the whispers and muttering of the students and the disappointment from her former Professors. 

His voice was silky, Magnified to reach every nook and cranny of the Great Hall: “Tonight, I welcome my wife, Hermione Snape, back at Hogwarts. She has seen the error of her ways, and has begged me … thoroughly … for forgiveness. Trust me, she’s been properly chastised.” At that, he turned to her, leering at her in a way that made her blush, and the gasps and titters around her made it hard to stand straight. _ Most of all, she wanted to run away. The humiliation was too much. _

“Moreover, she has brought my son, born while my wife was on her futile run with the enemy, back to me. I’ve granted my wife the privilege of moving about Hogwarts as she pleases, as long as she behaves like a dutiful wife and mother. Don’t hesitate to bring anything she does to my attention, but as you all will know, she’ll spend most of the time in the library.” He turned to her, eyes glittering, “Sit,” he barked, and startled, she sat down, to the derision and laughter from several of the students. 

The teachers, though, was quite another matter. Madam Pomfrey looked worried, trying to catch her eye, while Professor McGonagall gave her a hard stare, before sniffing disdainfully and turning her back on her. Most of the others followed McGonagall’s lead, but the two, new Death Eater teachers that her husband had brought in, stared at her with unabashed curiosity. 

Then, she started, as there was a loud scraping of a chair.. 

“Permission to speak, sir?” Draco Malfoy rose from his end of the Slytherin table, a smirk on his pointy face.

“Granted, Mr. Malfoy,” Severus replied, his voice deep and even again. 

“On behalf of Slytherin House, I wish to congratulate you on having a son and heir. Had we known earlier, we would have found a suitable gift for you, Headmaster. As it is, I hope you will forgive us for bringing you this trifling thing.” 

Draco approached the Head table, and Levitated what looked to be a silver rattle towards the Headmaster. Severus took it, turning it in his hands, and nodded to Draco. “Thank you, I’m sure my son will appreciate this. I take it, this is a Malfoy heirloom?” 

“Yes,” Draco confirmed. Then he whispered, his voice low, but still it carried through the Hall: “It also works if you need to gag your witch. My father tells me, it works wonderfully in that respect too.” 

At that, she could see Severus stiffen beside her, a faint flush to his face, but his voice was stoic as ever as he said: “Certainly, Draco. Thank you for this … thoughtful … gift.” 

Herself, she felt like she was burning up. She was sure, all the people in the Hall now had a vivid image of Severus doing unspeakable things with her, while _ gagging _her, of all things. She hid a choked sob into her goblet, but then her husband turned to her, and said silkily: “Darling, thank Mr. Malfoy properly for this useful gift.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” she whispered. 

Severus tutted. “That won’t do, little witch. Properly, I said!” 

He grabbed her by her neck, forcibly raising her up from her seat again to the shocked gasps of the crowd, and then he looked expectantly down at her. 

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. My son and I will appreciate this gift,” she forced out, to great bursts of laughter from the students. _ To her horror, not only Malfoys’ cronies were laughing. Gryffindors were laughing too, their eyes hard as she looked at her, like they thought she deserved this, for being a traitor. For betraying Harry, for returning to be the Death Eater Headmaster’s wife. _

She heard someone at the Slytherin table snidely remark: “I’m sure she’ll appreciate it when she’s gagged and bound, getting what a Mudblood deserves.” 

Pansy Parkinson sniffed: “I can’t see how he can stand to touch her, filthy thing that she is.” 

Crabbe barged into the conversation, eyes roving over her as he replied: “She’s pretty for a Mudblood. I, for one, would have loved to have a go at her. Grabbing all that hair, as I bend her over the table... ” 

“Yes, me too,” a third boy, a sixth grader, nodded. “I heard he fucked her, and then Dumbledore made him marry her. I guess he wouldn’t have, if it wasn’t for that. She’s a powerful witch, though, so she’ll probably breed strong heirs for him.” 

The rest of dinner was lost to her, and she felt like she was locked inside her own head, yelling, rattling the bars of a prison she had agreed to be confined in. Humiliation, anger and sadness tore her apart. _ What the hell had the world become like, when students talked like that, openly, in the Great Hall? Severus had said for her to act submissive, but why did _ ** _he _ ** _ allow people to talk like that? _

She barely ate, nodding mechanically if anyone said anything to her, but largely, the teachers pretended she was not there, apart from the odd glares and suspicious frowns. But the worst were the few pitying looks. _ That _made her want to cry. 

Later, in his quarters, she sat down listlessly on the sofa, after nursing her son to sleep in her arms. The fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, giving a bright, cheery warmth to the room, though she felt cold and strangely numb. _ It’s worth it, _ she told herself, nuzzling her son’s dark hair, _ it’s worth it, to keep him safe, protected and healthy. Still, this act hurt more than she had imagined. _

Severus stood still, watching her with a cocked head, before sitting down beside her. At first, she shied away, inching away from his body, but he would have none of it, pulling her into his arms. She struggled weakly at first, but it was difficult when both of her arms were occupied with her small, gently snoring baby. 

Inside, she was yelling at herself to get away, to escape the arms of the evil wizard clutching her to him, but instead, she felt so alone, so worried, so desperately in need of comfort after all the humiliation _ he _had put her through. So she buried her face into his shoulder, her whole body shaking with sobs.

“It’s all an act, remember?” he whispered, arms cradling her, stroking her gently. “You must endure this, but it isn’t real.” 

Xxxx

“Are you ready?” 

The words struck a chord of fear into her, but she gathered all her Gryffindor bravery, nodded, and stepped forward towards the bed. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, black dressing gown open, and she could see his pale torso, black hairs smattering his chest, leading down below to where his big cock stood to attention. _ It was easy to see what he expected from the night. _

Swallowing, she looked back to the crib, where she had put down her sleeping little son. _ He would sleep through it all, never knowing that his mother would submit her body to his father for his safety. Yes, she could do this, but it didn’t mean she wanted to. Almost whimsically, she wondered: Would it be rape, since she had consented? Or, while it technically and legally might not be so, did the legality really matter if it felt like a rape? _

“Take off your clothes,” he instructed, his hand slowly fisting his cock. Looking away, she pulled her nightdress over her head - a new, black and silky thing the elves had brought for her. 

His breath caught, and she felt a wave of nausea, as he licked his lips. _ She hadn’t even thought about sex for months, both to avoid thinking of him, and after the birth, it had been the last thing on her mind. _

“Your breasts are bigger,” he muttered, greedily staring at her. “Come here,” he beckoned her to the bed. 

Obediently, she moved forward, trying to repress a shudder as he grabbed her hips, pulling her flush to him between his legs. His mouth captured one of her nipples, and she jerked back. 

“Don’t,” she said, embarrassed, “the milk flow…” 

“I don’t mind,” he said, eyes still on her tits.

She snapped: “I do mind! If you please...”

“Alright,” he said grudgingly, “lay down on the bed instead, then, and spread your legs.” 

Climbing up into the bed, laying down in the middle, she wondered if he would just get on with it, penetrate her quickly without no further foreplay. _ She hoped so, though it would likely be painful, even with a Lubricating spell. She had no wish for him to touch her more than necessary. _

But she had no such luck, as he descended on her sex with his mouth. “Mmmm, you taste so good, Hermione. I’ve missed this, I’ve missed you, I’ve missed your cunt,” he muttered, as his tongue delved into her slit, curling around her clit, giving the nub little flicks. 

She shivered, her body reacting to the mechanical stimulation, though her mind was filled with revulsion. _ A Death Eater was eating her out. Dumbledore’s murderer was licking her sex. Her husband, the one who had betrayed her trust and broken her heart, was forcing his tongue into her hole, devouring her clit. _ Still, she couldn’t hinder her nub from becoming more prominent, wetness pooling in her opening, and he noticed. _ Of course he did, _she thought, despising her body’s reactions as he groaned against her. 

“I knew you were too hot-blooded, your pussy too willing, you could never have lain still for me, Hermione. Come on, give in, grind your hips against me,” he panted. 

Disgusted with herself, she tried to keep still, but an involuntary moan escaped her, and then he thrust a finger inside her. “You used to like this,” he grunted into her folds, tongue moving eagerly, and his beak of a nose rubbed her clit. _ It was true, she did like it, but she was determined to not let her body overrule her mind. _

He groaned again, and she noted he was grinding his hips into the mattress. _ Maybe it’ll be over sooner if I pretend to like it? _ While she thought it might be effective, it was repelling, because she didn’t want him to think she enjoyed this. _ Not with him, never again. She would never take the chance on trusting him again, never. _Her traitorous body had other ideas, as her hips arched up to meet his tongue, and she could feel him smile against her cunt. 

“Yesss, that’s it,” he hissed, the finger in her pussy thrusting faster. 

She blinked, tears pooling in her eyes. _ She couldn’t do this, not like this, no! _

Scrambling backwards on the bed, she panted, looking at his surprised face. “No!” she shouted. “I agreed to let you have me, but not like this. I don’t want to come for you. Just … do your thing, and then we’ll be done.” 

His eyes narrowed, and she was almost sure she saw a flash of hurt in his eyes. Stiffly, he said: “I want you to enjoy this too. I have no wish to ‘just do my thing’, as you so eloquently put it.” 

Locking her eyes firmly on the ceiling, not wanting to meet his eyes, she said equally stiffly: “I don’t want to enjoy this, but I agreed to let you use my body for your needs.” 

He snorted. “You want me to treat you like a whore? My dear, I don’t think you would like that.” 

Sitting up, she glared at him. “That’s the point, isn’t it? I’m selling my body to you, for his safety!” She pointed a shaking finger at the crib, where her son, miraculously enough, still was fast asleep through this racket. 

Severus recoiled, like she had slapped him. “I can’t do this either,” he mumbled, grabbing his dressing gown, and stalked away from the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. And then, her son woke up, wailing. 


	8. Dark Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Because…” The familiar sneer emerged on his face, and he said scathingly: “Oh, Hermione, you’re so clever, you should have seen this a long time ago. Why can’t you see it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts as dark, but there's development.  
In the beginning Severus is doing something he shouldn't have - I debated with myself if I should leave it in or cut it out, but in the end, it had to happen. Warning: Strong dubcon/borderline rape. Skip the first part if you don't want to read that.

He returned a few hours later, while she was asleep. Turning her roughly over on her back, he pulled up her nightdress, as she sleepily dug her hands into her eyes, saying: “What?” 

“You’ll get it the way you wanted it, you and the goddamned Dark Lord,” he slurred, bitterness in his voice, and the smell of Firewhisky wafted from him. “I must show him something, I need to go to him tonight.” 

Swallowing, she tried to reach her wand to do a Lubricating spell, but he beat her to it, pinning her arms down. _ He was going to do it. Just like she had expected him too. _Still, it didn’t matter. Now that it was happening, she felt scared. 

“Wait, I need to cast a spell, so it won’t hurt me,” she protested, struggling against him. 

“I thought that was what you wanted,” he almost snarled, but his magic washed silently over her, making her nether parts wet. 

He moved in between her legs, one hand steering his cock to her opening, and he thrust hard into her. She groaned involuntarily, as her breath was pushed out of her, feeling the intrusion as both strange and slightly painful, the ridges on his cock almost scraping her soft tissue through the coat of conjured lubrication. He set a hard and fast pace, pumping into her with abandon. Still disoriented from sleep, she just stayed still, feeling him spill inside her after a few, frantic thrusts. 

He rolled off her, staring at the ceiling, and after a few moments, he said, voice almost breaking: “I didn’t want you like this. I wanted you to feel good. But you didn’t want _ me _, and I need to show the Dark Lord something he’ll accept. If not…. All this will be for naught, and then you’d be dead. We both would be. I’m sorry, Hermione, I am. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

She snorted angrily. Now wide awake, disgust was warring with pity for him inside her. _ Pity? For crying out loud, _ she told herself furiously. _ If anyone should be pitied, it should be me! He took me against my will, and now he feels bad about it. He didn’t deserve her pity. He deserved … nothing ... from her. Nothing at all. _

Rolling to her side with her back towards him, she pulled the covers over her again, not deigning him with an answer. Semen trickled slowly out of her, and she grabbed her wand from the nightstand, whisking the sticky fluid away with an angry “_Tergeo!” _

Xxxx

The morning after was awkward. He was obviously struggling, feeling ashamed or _ whatever _ a Death Eater had as a substitute for remorse, she noted with disdain. All she could feel was an ice-cold fury. _ Fury at him, for taking her like that, but most of all, this experience had rekindled her anger at him for being a traitor, when he could have been _ ** _better._ ** _ It shouldn’t have to be like this. Her son deserved better than a father who was the Great Betrayer of the Order. She deserved better! _

She fussed with her son, not paying her husband any attention, though he hovered around her, hands clenching and unclenching nervously, as he watched her every movement. It seemed like he wanted to say something to her, but didn’t quite dare to open a conversation. _ It was a sight _ , she thought with bitter amusement. _ Severus Snape looking insecure and not in control seemed sort of impossible. At the very least, there would be few people who had seen him like this. Maybe she should savour the experience. _

Ten minutes to eight, a House-elf arrived with a pop, ready to take care of her son while they went for breakfast. She smiled at Tinny, who proudly had been named the official nanny amongst the elves, knowing that her son would be in good hands. 

Turning to her husband, she said coolly: “Ready?”

”Yes,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes, but he strode forward, taking her arm, to escort her down the rotating stairs and the corridors. 

She rested her hand lightly on his arm, staring straight ahead with a hard expression on her face, like she belonged on the arm of the Death Eater Headmaster. _ She would not go down there to be pitied, despised, frowned upon and sneered at like a cowering victim, not again. That wasn’t her, not at all, and she refused to play that role, whatever he said. Even if it broke her heart, she’d act like she was there of her own volition, like she wanted to be the wife of the traitor of the Order. She would pretend to be in control, like the undoubtedly powerful witch she was. To keep her son safe, they would all believe she was Severus Snape’s loyal wife. So be it, she’d act like one in public, though she’d show him exactly what she thought of him in private. There would be no more cuddling comfort on the sofa. If she needed a hug, she would hug her son. _

When he crashed open the doors to the Great Hall, she raised her chin, staring haughtily at the student body. In her mind, she tried to immerse herself into her role. _ Like she was queen of the castle. The evil queen, that was. The evil queen, on the arm of the dark king, like a fairytale gone bad, where evil had prevailed over good, and where she relished her position. _

Her eyes swept over the Slytherin table, silencing their smug faces with a disdainful sneer of her own. _ Underlings, _ she told herself, _ in such a fairytale, they would be servants, nothings. _She gave what she hoped was a dignified nod to her husband, as he stopped, helping her up on the dais of the Head table. 

Sitting down beside him, she felt the now familiar pangs of hunger. Her body hadn’t yet recuperated after her months of starvation, but she forced herself to help herself to only one toast, buttering it up methodically, then spreading the tart, delicious orange marmalade, before taking a dainty bite. Her stomach almost roared for more, but she ate slowly, eyes on the hall, taking sips of scalding hot, black tea in between the bites of toast. 

When the owls arrived, she turned to her husband, giving him a sickly sweet smile, saying: “Severus, darling, I would love to have my own subscription to the Prophet. Would you be a dear to order it for me?” 

The man almost twitched in surprise, but he recovered remarkably quickly. _ The practised response of an accomplished liar, _she thought bitterly, while keeping up her sugary smile. 

“Certainly, wife,” he said, deep voice almost shaking, and then she patted his arm, cooing: “Thank you, Severus. As for now, do you mind if I read yours?” 

“Please,” he said, looking almost flustered, giving her the news, while keeping the culture section for himself. 

Behind her newspaper, she felt like she could relax a little more, and had five more slices of toast in silence, sating that growling beast in her stomach. As they left breakfast, she stopped him, just outside the Great Hall, in full view of everyone, and stepped closer to him with a mischievous smile. “Until later, love.” Standing on her tiptoes, she almost reached his chin, but he understood what she was aiming for, swooping down to give her a quick peck on the lips. As he rose to his full height, the hurt in his eyes was unmistakable, and she stepped quickly away from him. Heading off to the library for a quick browsing session, she could feel his eyes on her back for a long time. 

Xxxx

  
  


“If this truly is the facade you want to keep up, you’ll have to act in bed too,” he almost snarled at her one evening, after another cloyingly sweet public performance from her side. “The Dark Lord will notice the discrepancy immediately when he watches your memories. He’s not stupid, you know.” 

She peered up from behind her stack of library books, her eyes icy as she met his hot, black stare. 

_ It had been almost two weeks, and she had cooed at him in public, playing the adoring wife, while in private, she had barely spoken to him. In return, he had obviously been avoiding her, and he hadn’t even tried to touch her at night, coming to bed long after she had fallen asleep, all barring one night. _

_ Then, he had joined her in bed, pulling her to him, touching her, his breath much too fast, and she could feel his cock hard against her stomach. She had lain stiff as a board, unresponsive in his arms, as he fumbled with her nightdress. His hands had been roaming over her body, touching her hips, breasts and arse. To her irritation, her body reacted to his touch, but she held herself still and in control, this time. He had given up his efforts with a desperate groan, before he had come even close to touch her mound, rolling away from her: “I can’t do this. This is…” _

_ When her son woke her up in the early mornings, crying for milk, she often found herself tucked into her husband’s arms, head resting on his chest. Grumbling, she had extracted herself from him, giving him a cold glare, like it was his fault she had slept so close to him. He always returned her glare, like she was the one to impose herself on him. _

_ In public, he was always unfailingly polite and courteous to her, while being his stern and harsh self against anyone else. Though, he always made sure she steered clear of the Carrows, like he didn’t want them anywhere near her. Generally, those few moments they had shared in private had been frosty from both sides. Underneath his cold distance, at times she had seen traces of that strange hurt she had caught a glimpse of, but it was always most prominent after a public display of false affection. _

But oh, the things she had seen in those two weeks: The **things ** he allowed in his school! Punishments bordering on torture, students ridiculed in public, even students attacking each other in broad daylight with no consequence. Or rather, the winner was applauded, while the loser were punished. _ He had made Hogwarts a living hell, together with his Death Eater professors. _

And now, he wanted her to act like a whore in in bed for him too. She raised an eyebrow, imperiously. “And why is that?” she asked coolly. 

“Because even the Dark Lord will know that a loving wife doesn’t shy away from fucking her husband,” he almost spat. 

“I was under the impression that he didn’t care for such things anyway, why would he bother with the difference?” she drawled, but he shook his head. 

“If you had stayed by my original plan, playing submissive and cowed, it wouldn’t matter,” he said, suddenly looking tired. “Now, with this … exaggerated …performance of sickly sweet love, you’ll have to step up your game soon. He has requested your presence, and I have been stalling, telling him you need time with the baby. By Easter, you need to give him memories that matches the rumours he’ll have heard of your public behaviour.” 

It felt like she had been doused with a glass of ice-cold water. Stubbornly, she said: “It’s not uncommon for someone to play more affectionate in public. He might think I’m scared of you. Wouldn’t that work the same way?” 

Her husband sighed deeply, sinking down into the sofa beside her, his head in his hands. Groaning, he muttered: “Hermione, I can’t do this. I don’t want to rape you.” 

“Why ever not?” she asked, sniffing with derision. “Isn’t that what you Death Eaters do? Rape Muggleborns and Muggles, before you kill them?” 

“No, please,” the naked anguish in his voice made her look at him. Harsh, angular lines of worry had been etched into his brow and around his mouth, making him seem much older than his years. “Hermione, I can’t. I can’t hurt you, I don’t even want to, I _ promised _it.” 

“Really,” she said, sarcasm heavy in her inflection. “You had no such qualms in betraying me, the Order, Dumbledore… Why would you balk at a bit of marital rape, which you even have my technical consent to perform?” 

“You haven’t the faintest idea…” he started before he checked himself, his mouth firming. “You’re going to learn Occlumency,” he muttered. “Right now.” 

He rose, Summoning books and scrolls into a heap in front of her, but then, Dumbledore’s portrait interrupted him. 

“Severus, no - don’t do this.” The thin, reedy voice from the portrait made them both stop and stare. 

Severus stubbornly shook his head, saying: “Albus, this can’t go on anymore. I need to resolve this. She needs to learn, before I ... ” He sighed, dragging his hand through his hair, shoulders slumping. 

Dumbledore’s expression softened, and the portrait said slowly: “Be very careful, Severus. Be absolutely sure, and don’t do anything rash. I can see how this is affecting you. Though I don’t agree with you, I can understand your need.” 

She looked back and forth between the former and the current Headmaster, wondering what the two of them were talking about. _ Surely, Dumbledore shouldn’t show so much care for his murderer? Shouldn’t he despise the man who had betrayed them all? _

Turning to her, her husband repeated his order: “You will learn Occlumency. Make it a priority, over those other things you’ve been researching. I will teach you myself.” 

Thrusting the pile of books towards her with a wave of his wand, he barked angrily: “Read!” 

Xxxx

Occlumency proved to be very interesting, and she devoured indepth theories on how the Legilimency and Occlumency process really worked, as well as numerous practical tips on how to perform it. She felt slightly guilty for reading about this instead of researching the whereabouts of the Horcruxes, but she reasoned, if she was to go before Voldemort before Easter, she had a month to learn how to hide the Horcrux hunt in her mind. 

She had found, she could read while she nursed, and her son loved his play mat, trying to grab the stuffed animals floating above his head, the animals moving slowly and gently by the spell she had set, soft chimes being set off as he managed to grab one. Sometimes, he rolled over on his stomach, but it wasn’t long before he was crying, wanting to be turned back again. The joy and trust in his eyes as she gently flipped him around again, was something that never failed to lift her spirit. 

The only breaks she took was for meals. Her carefully drafted public facade was kept up at all times. Though, it was at times difficult. One evening as her husband decided to start dinner by dispassionately doling out punishments, she barely hid her horror and distaste. 

“Longbottom, Neville,” he intoned, leaning forward behind the owl lectern, hands clenching the rim. “For scrawling meaningless and obscene messages on the walls, you are to gather mooncalf dung with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest, _ each night_, for a fortnight. Make sure you don’t fall asleep in class, Longbottom, though I daresay none of your teacher will notice any difference if you do.” 

Neville groaned, but his face brightened as Hagrid waved at him. 

“Weasley, Ginny. For talking back in class disrespectfully, you are to clean out the bedpans in the Hospital Wing each afternoon for a month, by hand. A word of advice, Miss Weasley, wash your hands afterwards. You might not have learned that at home, but it _ is _common wizarding etiquette.” 

Severus stared at the rest of the students sitting with heads bowed, trying to avoid his notice, and he said with displeasure: “Try not to eat like the pigs you are. At least try to show some proper upbringing, like you are wizards, not filthy _ Muggles_.”

Ginny’s face was white with fury, and she clenched her jaw shut, but Madam Pomfrey looked sympathetically at her, giving her a small wink. Somehow, Hermione rather thought Ginny wouldn’t have to clean bedpans the Muggle way at all. The kind Matron would probably see fit to give her more rewarding tasks. 

From the Head table, Amycus Carrow growled as Severus sat down: “Headmaster! I would have loved to punish that little bitch. Bedpans are all well and good, but she was talking back to _ my _sister, and I would have liked to show that slut how a Blood-traitor should be properly handled, sir.” 

His sister nodded sycophantically, stroking her vile brothers arm, looking at him with a sickening admiration. 

Severus arched an eyebrow, not even bothering to glance at the Carrows, as he speared a piece of his grilled sea bass. “Please, Amycus, I wouldn’t want to disrupt your … family interactions ... by letting someone distract you like that. The girl needs to learn the difference between what’s clean and what’s filthy. She’ll never learn that from _ you.” _

The Carrow brother hurriedly said: “By all means, I respect your decisions, Headmaster…” 

Severus snorted, interrupting him rudely: “I certainly hope so, Amycus, or else you’d be … sorry.” 

The Carrows immediately shut up, concentrating on their food, but Hermione frowned. _ Neville and Ginny had just gotten off very easily, both of them in detentions with teachers that wouldn’t abuse them, however unpleasant their tasks. Why had he done so? It didn’t fit - he should have left them in the hands of the Carrows, Neville for the Cruciatus, and Ginny for something that might have been far worse. _

Xxxx

  
  


Painstakingly, through a series of messages on the coin, she told Harry and Ron about what she was doing and why, and the boys were worried sick. They also told her, her performance and seemingly shift of allegiance had reached the Potterwatch, and she was now slandered almost as much as Severus himself. That made her ache inside, with a strong feeling that this wasn’t fair, though she knew, this was exactly what they were aiming for. Harry and Ron were both angry on her behalf, though, and it made her feel better. 

“Does he treat you right?” the coin flashed again, and she swallowed, a sob almost escaping her. Like she always did on such occasion, she lifted up her son, holding the small, wriggling bundle against her chest, breathing in the sweet scent of a clean baby to calm herself. The vitriol she routinely unleashed at her husband hurt her too. _ She wasn’t like that. She was supposed to be nice, not a sarcastic snarky witch who enjoyed hurting people. _

“Yes,” she ended up replying. “I can manage. Don’t worry.” _ The boys had too many things to worry about, and she was not about to throw her own, personal problems into the mix. _

As the weather had improved, she took little Augustus on walks in the Hogwarts grounds, him bobbing gently in a baby Floater, the wizarding equivalent of a baby stroller. He was a big boy, fairly grumpy, if she had to say so herself, and by now, there was another pair of alert, black eyes following her every movement. It was obvious, his looks were favouring his father. Hermione wondered, if he was picking up on her mood, because lately, he was fussier. And her mood, was … well. 

Trying to sort her thoughts as they passed the greenhouses, the sun shining from a clear, blue February sky, she set up a list in her mind, trying to solve the enigma that was her husband. 

** _One. _ ** _ She was still feeling hurt after his betrayal of the Order. He had tricked her as well as everyone else. He was a liar, and she would do well to never believe a word he said. _

** _Two. _ ** _ He had only been stringing her along for his own purposes, pushing all her buttons to get her to care for him. Again, she couldn’t trust him, he humiliated her and made her feel foolish. _

** _Three. _ ** _ He was a Death Eater, and Voldemort’s most trusted lieutenant, doing unspeakable things to their world. _

** _Four. _ ** _ What he was doing here, as Headmaster of Hogwarts, was horrible. Students were terrorized, tortured and hurt by the Carrows, and he sanctioned it all. _

** _Five. _ ** _ He sometimes acted like he wasn’t a true Death Eater. She had never seen him punish a student himself, and she had also seen that he preferred to send students to detention with other teachers than the Carrows. _

** _Six. _ ** _ It was uncomfortably obvious that he had feelings for her. And somehow, she both felt sorry for him and for herself, trapped in this situation. She rather thought that they would have had a good life together, if all this hadn’t happened. On the other hand, he had promised not to hurt her, and he had never pried into what she and the boys had been doing, respecting her need for secrecy. He obviously wanted her to be, well, if not happy, at least reasonably free to do what she wanted. _

** _Seven_ ** _ . There was that strange matter with Gryffindor’s Sword and the way Dumbledore’s portrait behaved too. Still, there wasn’t enough evidence to shake the fact that he belonged to the dark side. He was a puzzle, and she felt sure, she hadn’t all the pieces yet to assemble the full picture. _

** _Eight. _ ** _ She felt conflicted about him, and she really didn’t know how to resolve those feelings… _

“Hey, Mudblood!” Her thoughts were interrupted by a shout, and suddenly, she was boxed in by Goyle and Crabbe. Malfoy was in the background, crossing his arms, with a faint smirk on his face. 

Her haughty mask was on her face in a moment, and she arched an eyebrow, before moving forward. “Stand aside, _ troll _,” she said acidly to Crabbe, making him redden with anger. 

The boys didn’t move, and a sinister grin was playing on Goyle’s face. “We thought we’d sample if our esteemed Headmaster is getting his worth. We know what to do to little Mudblood whores, but are you good enough for him? That’s what we’d like to check out. Down on your knees, bitch!” 

Shock coursed through her. _ She had never thought anyone would attack her here, at Hogwarts, and especially not someone from her class. Not like this. _

Goyle shoved her roughly down, a hamsized hand fisting into her hair, moving it towards his crotch. There was a sizable bulge beneath his robes, and she panicked, a whimpering “No!” coming out of her mouth, making her attacker grin viciously. 

Then her son started crying in his Floater, and all of a sudden, fear dissipated and anger welled up, overflowing in her veins. Without thinking, she spat out a curse directed at Goyle: “_Reducto!” _

There was a blinding flash and what sounded like a small detonation, and then there was a moment of silence. Blinking to clear her vision from the residual light, she noticed at first Crabbe wiping something red and dripping from his face.

“Arrgh! She blasted my leg!” Goyle was on the ground, howling, and his left leg was missing from the hip and down. “I’m dying, help!”

She blinked. _ Had she caused this? Wandlessly? _

Calmly, she rose, staying in her role, though she was shaking on the inside. She checked her sleeves and her dress, noting that the spray of blood and flesh had been directed away from her, and she said imperiously: “I can see why you _ wouldn’t _ value his life, but if you do, you should start Healing and get him to the Hospital Wing. _ Right now.” _

Moving around them in a wide circle, the Floater with her crying son in tow, she walked slowly, but clutched her wand hard, setting up a silent “_ Protego” _around them, just in case they’d try to hex them from behind. 

She took a direct route to get back to the castle, walking faster by the minute, adrenaline pumping through her, and when she reached the gargoyle watching the entrance to their chambers, she was almost running. Well inside the room, she lifted up her baby, tears falling freely, panicked gasps escaping her in great gulps. _ It felt like she couldn’t breathe, like her heart was beating much too fast, like there wasn’t enough air in the world for her to survive. _

“What is the matter?” 

Her husband stared at her in consternation, sitting behind his desk. Usually, she just passed through the office, preferring to stay away from him, hiding in the library or in the sitting room, but now, she couldn’t find the energy to walk another step. 

“I took off Goyle’s leg,” she croaked out, “I blasted it off.” 

His eyebrows rose to the ceiling, and in a moment, he had moved away from his desk, standing before her, clutching her shoulders. “Why, what did he do?” 

His voice was insistent, worried, and she told him through hiccups and sobs. A small growl came from him, and he muttered: “The little bastards, I can see I need to set an example. And Draco, that creep. I suppose this is about the Ministry debacle, the Malfoy’s never recovered their standing with...” 

Slowly, like he thought she would resist, he pulled her into his body, cradling both her and her son safely in his arms. “There,” he whispered, “there, you did well, you protected yourself. They wouldn’t have been able to overcome you, my wife, you are far too strong for them. You saved yourself, love. You did well.” 

For a moment, she allowed herself the comfort of being held, of being caressed, and she cried freely, the fear, anger and tension dissipating ever so slowly. 

Xxxx

The next morning, she got the full show of just how cruel the Hogwarts’ Headmaster could be. _ And this time, he was the perpetrator, and it was for her benefit. _At breakfast, in the full view of the entire student body and the teachers, her husband methodically Crucio’ed Crabbe, the barely recovering Goyle - his leg in place thanks to Skele-Gro - and Draco Malfoy. 

Her husband had lined up the three of them, telling everyone what had happened, before he thundered: “And this is my warning to anyone even contemplating to attack my wife. What these boys will receive as punishment, will be nothing against a second perpetrator. Consider yourself warned.” Then he had cast the spell, with a whispered “_ Crucio,” _ his wand flashing red, producing a thick, fiery beam, before it split in three arches, connecting to the three of them at once. The screaming had started immediately, the boys writhing on the floor, and it had gone on and on and on.

His face was strangely blank, though his eyes flashed vindictively, wand arm steady as he kept the curse going. 

She schooled her own face into impassiveness, but inside, she felt truly conflicted. _ It felt good, seeing the boys who had threatened her, scared her and tried to assault her being punished. It felt like vindication, it felt right in a very wrong way, and there was a hint av gratitude towards her husband for making such a public display of it. At the same time… This was an Unforgivable Curse, it was torture of fellow human beings, and it wasn’t right, it wasn’t justice by a long shot. It was revenge, outside the law, it was everything she, Harry and the Order stood against. _

Their screams reverberated through the Great Hall. Students and teachers were all pale and shocked, some making retching sound at the back, others sobbing quietly, but the Carrows were smiling. She heard Amycus Carrow whisper to his sister: “I’ve always said that Severus casts the best Cruciatus, after the Dark Lord of course. He’s a master, and this is a pleasure to see. See how his eyes never leaves them? That’s how he manages to hold the curse for such an extended period of time.” 

“Still,” the sister muttered with a worried glance, “these are _ our _kids, Death Eater kids. He shouldn’t be so harsh on them.” 

“Phew, it’s for his wife,” Amycus scoffed. “He’s responding like a true Death Eater should. Stupid of them to attack his wife, they deserve it.” 

The silence was ringing after the screaming had stopped. Hermione thought, _ it could have been around ten minutes, but it felt like half the day had gone by _. 

When the twitching in the limbs of the three young men had slowed down, Filch moved forward to pick them up, muttering something about soiling his newly polished floor, as he stared at the pools of urine and other, murkier spots left by the torture spell, before carting the three of them out in a wheelbarrow. 

Now, she knew, this was her moment, her part in this scene. Rising from her seat, dressed in the most lavish dress she had found in her closet, she set a discrete “_ Sonorous” _to her throat, and she said, huskily: “Thank you, husband. I feel so safe, knowing what you will do to anyone else who tries to harm me or my son.” Raising on her tiptoes again, she flung her arms around his neck, kissing him soundly on the mouth. 

To her surprise, as he had been very reluctant to kiss her in public, like he abhorred the show of affection she was putting on, this time, he grabbed her waist with one hand, dipping her backward, and claimed her mouth in a surprising, passionate kiss. For a split second, she stiffened, but then she played along, completing the performance by returning the kiss. His tongue delved hungrily into her mouth, searching, probing, and she let him play with her tongue, moving slowly against his. 

When he let her go, she was breathing heavily, as was he, and automatically, she put a hand up to her kiss-swollen lips, feeling flushed. His eyes were burning at her, and she could tell, he wanted her now - _ badly_. Instead, he said coldly to the crowd: “Breakfast may proceed. Enjoy your meal.” 

Sitting down, he gave her a heated look, and then his hand crept towards her under the table, squeezing it briefly, before he leaned in, commenting calmly: “Admirable, as always, my dear.” 

Paling, she realized, she was a very _ sick _ person. _ She actually still felt physical attraction to him, and that was the thing that made everything so much harder. If it was only clean hatred, it would be so much easier. Granted, the attraction could be fueled by the protection and strength he offered her, but then again, she had a suspicion, it went deeper. Yes, she was one sick witch. _

Xxxx

“You’ve read the books by now?” 

“Yes,” she nodded, having devoured all the books on Occlumency he had given her. “I’ve also done exercises on emptying my mind, and I’ve started to visualize my thoughts.” 

“Good, then we’ll start the practicals.” 

Her husband looked tired, his face drawn, like he wasn’t sleeping enough, like his life was too stressful. He had, even though weeks had gone by, not demanded anything more of her in bed. She suddenly got the fleeting thought that her presence had added significantly to the stress he felt. Shrugging, she shook that notion off. _ That wasn’t her fault. He had brought this on himself. _

“I’m ready,” she said. 

“Start by emptying your mind,” he said. 

She did, pulling a calming blanket of snow over her thoughts, fuzzing all contours, letting all emotions and interests become hidden behind gentle mounds of snow, before letting a blizzard even out and smooth the surface. Only a glittering plain of pure snow was visible. Her breathing even, she locked eyes with her husband, and said: “All set.” 

He lifted his wand at her, whispering “_Legilimency_!”

In a detached way, she thought he looked nervous for what he would find in her mind, but also somewhat hopeful. 

There was a tight feeling of pressure behind her eyes, and then she could feel his presence in her mind. 

He was a stark, black figure against the white-out in her mind, and he turned around slowly looking around. “Good,” he said, “now, show me a memory of your own choice.” 

She pursed her lips. _ How to pull up a memory, without disturbing her smooth plain of snow? _ She visualised a shovel, but then, she wasn’t sure what was underneath the snow. _ What would she find? Where were the innocuous memories? _Defeated, she slumped her shoulders. “I can’t, not without disturbing everything.” 

He withdrew, a small, arrogant smirk on his face. “Try another image. Something where you more easily can access memories you want to showcase. Because the Dark Lord will not, unfortunately, accept the fact that your mind is completely blank. The trick is to show what you want, and hide the rest.” 

Thinking hard for a moment, she decided to go with her other visualisation. She had felt, it was a bit of a cliché, but then again, it had its merits. The library took form in her head, long rows of scrolls, tomes and books, titles distorted into other languages, by heavy use or even written in code. 

“I’m ready,” she announced, and he slipped inside her mind again. 

“Better,” he said, approvingly. “Now, pick out a memory for me to see.” 

Feeling oddly pleased and a little whimsical - _ after all, she loved approval and praise for her achievements - _she picked out one of her earliest memories of him, when she set fire to his robes during the Quidditch match in her first year. 

A small smile tugged at his lips, and he mumbled: “I suspected as much.” 

The memory played out, and then he said: “Now, try to alter it. Not by much, for example, try to imagine me in a different coloured robe.” 

She snorted with laughter: “That might be too much of a stretch of my imagination. You, not wearing black?” 

His eyes glittered, and he said: “Try green, then. I actually have a green shirt in the back of my closet, if you must know.” 

Still laughing, she tried to picture him in green robes, keeping it firmly in her mind as she played the memory again. The green colour flickered slightly into black and back, but all in all, it was fairly stable. 

“Very good,” he said, “you have, of course, an impressive grasp already. Now, practise to change small details of your memories, and we will try again tomorrow.” 

Again, she had that glowing feeling inside, her stupid self enjoying his praise far too much, and she couldn’t help smiling at him. His eyes softened, and he half reached out a hand towards her, before pulling it back, rising abruptly from the chair and leaving the room in a swirl of black robes. 

Xxxx

_ Their Occlumency sessions proved to be a relief for them both, _ she thought, _ easing the strain between them, maybe even thawing the ice somewhat_, _ making them momentarily forget why and how they were together. _She made good progress, soon being able to change her memories, and they practised how she could deflect his probing after certain memories by placing new memories in his path. 

One evening, he said stoically, though his eyes belied his uneasiness: “We should practise on more painful memories. The Dark Lord won’t be satisfied with happy memories, and it’s much harder to change unhappy memories. You know what he’ll be looking for: memories of your supposed devotion to me, and your memories about Potter and Weasley. Can you …” he swallowed, “can you change a recent memory of me into something good?” 

He wasn’t meeting her eyes, and she winced. _ This would be hard, but she knew, it would be necessary. _Bracing herself, she nodded, inviting him in. 

_ She landed him into the aftermath of one of their Occlumency lessons, one where they had shared a real smile after she had succeeded in deflecting him. Then, she mixed in a memory of having sex before all this happened, transitioning the memory into him kissing her, before pulling her clothes off, her moaning underneath him. _

He jerked, pulling out of her head, looking thoroughly flustered. The shock in his eyes was hidden almost immediately, but his tongue darted out, wetting his lips. Slowly, he said: “That was … a fair try. It felt … real.” Rising from the chair, he started to pace the room, making their small son laugh joyously each time those black robes swished by his play mat, small hands trying to grasp the long robes of his father. 

Turning to her, he said, voice much calmer: ”The problem is, you couldn’t make the place believable. It kept changing between this place and my former chambers. Changing the place where something happened is one of the most difficult things to do, because one cannot change every, single detail. That is why we need to make some memories from these chambers too. Or else, the Dark Lord will spot the lie easily. With some real encounters in these chambers to build on, it’ll be easier for you to forge memories.” 

Her brows furrowed, and she said curtly: “Is this because you want to have sex with me? If so, just say it, don’t make up things.” 

“No,” he sighed. “It’s the truth. Hermione, making the Dark Lord believe that you’re loyal, is a matter of life and death. I’m saying this because I want you to live.” 

“Why do you help me? Because, you cannot deny that you are doing so. By all rights, you should have turned me over to him immediately. Severus, you shouldn’t be helping me, you should help _ him_,” she said, frowning at him with suspicion, but in her heart, she felt something close to hope fluttering. _ Hope, stupid despicable hope. It was no use, it was futile, her rational self barked, dousing her hopeful heart in ice-cold reality. _

“I don’t want to turn you over.. I want you alive.” The words came out flat, sullenly, and he stared at her, impassive mask in place. 

“Why?” she countered, more insistently, this time. 

“Because…” The familiar sneer emerged on his face, and he said scathingly: “Oh, Hermione, you’re so _ clever _ , you should have seen this a long time ago. _ Why _can’t you see it?” 

“Clever? Perhaps,” she replied, irritated at the slight, “but so are you. You’ve tricked me once, you’ll trick me twice.” 

He spun around, robes flapping, pointing his finger at Dumbledore’s portrait. “You…! With your demands of secrecy. Cant’ you see what you are doing to me - to us?” 

The portrait woke from a snore, though Hermione thought he had rather pretended to sleep, and Dumbledore shoved his glasses up on his nose, peering at Severus. “You brought this on yourself, Severus,” he said mildly. “You sent her back in time, and then you married her. It was you who derailed our plans, Severus, not me.” 

Her husband stood stock still, before he stalked out, slamming the door behind him. 

Hermione moved to stand in front of the portrait. “What plans, Headmaster?” she inquired, with steel in her voice. 

“None of it matter now,” the old man said with a weary sigh. “By his actions, Severus have changed things significantly. How are the boys?” 

“Good, I think,” she said tiredly. _ Did I imagine it? Of course, by killing Dumbledore, Severus changed their plans when he broke the Order’s trust. _Clearing her voice, because she still nursed that small, stupid hope that there would be something else, that Severus might not be Britain’s greatest villain except for Voldemort, she continued: “Less hungry, I believe, with the onset of spring. I haven’t found anything of significance, but I believe if there is a Horcrux made from something of Ravenclaw’s, it might be that fabled, lost diadem. It certainly is a possibility, but then again, no one knows where it is. What do you think, Headmaster?” 

“I think it is sound reasoning, like always, Hermione. Why don’t you try talking to the Grey Lady? She’s Ravenclaw’s daughter. And, maybe,” he paused, like he was debating with himself, “maybe you should trust your instincts,” the old man said, though he looked vaguely irritated. _ Somehow, she suspected his irritation was directed at himself. _


	9. The Dark Lord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Either the bedroom or the library,” she announced. “There are too many portraits in here.” 
> 
> “Oh, they’re very discreet,” he said, “they always leave if something like that is going on.” 
> 
> That made her stop short, her head swivelling to look directly at him. “How would you know?” she barked with a sudden fury, anger like hard spikes shooting through her veins. “Have you ever had anyone up here? Not only did you betray the Order, you cheated on me as well?”

It was high noon, her son was asleep, and in the evening, she’d have to go before the Dark Lord. Her husband was standing before her in his office, a successful Occlumency session just over. 

“Hermione,” he said, deep voice rumbling through the room, “please, let me try. We must make him believe. You’re good, but the memories you’ve crafted aren’t as detailed and rich as they should be. Let me make this good for you. Even… pretend I’m someone else, if you need to. Please, let us act in a way that convinces the Dark Lord that your public affection is real.” 

She sighed, looking up at him. He was tall as ever, but with his shoulders slumped, he looked defeated, with dark circles around his eyes, like he was constantly tired and worried. Now, he had his arms crossed, looking at her with those black eyes, the colour so very much like her little son. He was wearing his customary home attire, a black shirt, sleeves carelessly rolled up, showing off the inky black Mark on his arm, but the frock coat was hanging on a peg by the door, ready to be Summoned and buttoned up within a moment’s notice if anyone requested entrance to the Headmaster’s office. 

_ She knew full well, if she allowed it, he could make her feel good, but that meant for her to part with all her principles. There was no way she’d allow the great betrayer of the Order to arouse her, making her come. Still, if he was right, it was her life on the line. She could fake an orgasm, pretend to desire him, and then, she could infuse the memory with real excitement from her earlier memories of sex with him. Yes, that would be the best way to go about it. _

“Ok,” she relented stiffly, a grimace of distaste across her face. “In here, or in the bedroom?” 

“Wherever you want,” he said. Glancing away from her, he said softly: “Do I really disgust you so much?” 

Swallowing, her breath caught by the vulnerability in his voice. _ She couldn’t - wouldn’t - do this to him, though she should, by all rights. He didn’t deserve the truth, but all the same, she was going to give it to him. _“No, Severus,” she whispered, “not as much as you should.” 

“I will have to be satisfied with that,” he said, with a bitter shrug. 

It made her feel awful, though rationally, she knew she had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. _ It was all his fault, and she shouldn’t feel guilty. _

Nodding briskly, trying to avoid any festering emotions from welling up, she looked around in the office. “Either the bedroom or the library,” she announced. “There are too many portraits in here.” 

“Oh, they’re very discreet,” he said, “they always leave if something like that is going on.” 

That made her stop short, her head swivelling to look directly at him. “How would you know?” she barked with a sudden fury, anger like hard spikes shooting through her veins. “Have you ever had anyone up here? Not only did you betray the Order, you _ cheated _on me as well?” 

Blinking at her outrage, he said: “No, not at all. And even if I had done so, I wouldn’t have thought you cared, either. The truth of it, if you must know, I need to let out some steam, at times. You’re always staying in the bedroom or the library, and if I need some privacy, it’s this room or the bathroom.” 

She actually blushed at that, eyes darting about, thinking of him wanking in here. _ Sitting in his chair, taking out his big cock, stroking it…. _Brushing off the thought and the shameful tingle it brought with it, she supposed, she should be thankful, he hadn’t decided to do it while laying beside her in bed. 

Standing undecided in the middle of the floor, thrown off her tracks by this interlude, she didn’t react when he took the opportunity to lean into her, kissing her temple, hard lips moving down to her cheeks, chin and throat. Her head fell back, eyes closing, and he snaked a strong arm around her, pulling her to him. 

She breathed in the familiar smell of him, leather, parchment, ink and a spicy something that might have been a combination of ingredients, before giving him access to her throat and neck. 

He almost growled, as her hips met his thighs, and she could feel his length hard against her stomach, as one hand fisted in her hair, cradling her head. “Hermione, oh, I’ve missed this so much,” he panted against the sensitive skin under her ear. 

Sensations raced across her body, her nipples hardened involuntarily, and the hand around her waist came up, brushing her side, reaching the underside of her breast. It made her gasp, something clenching hard in her belly, and she melted into his body.

She wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, but they were now behind his desk, taking a seat in his chair, and he was dragging her down to straddle him. Her arms fell around his neck for support, and she sat down, feeling his cock strain against the fabric of his wool trousers. He thrust his hips up against her sex with a small groan, closing his eyes, and she ground her hips down, making his eyes pop open, and he swooped down, capturing her mouth in a deep kiss. 

She continued grinding at him, while his tongue licked at her lips, requesting entrance, and as she parted her lips, he thrust his tongue inside, finding hers, kissing her hard.

He broke the kiss, gasping, and muttered “_Divesto! _” rendering them both naked. Her embarrassingly wet sex was now sliding and grinding up and down the length of his cock, the red, weeping head parting her slit, peeking out between her curls as she moved, but also rubbing deliciously against her clit. 

“Merlin,” he breathed reverently, “you’re wet for me, you really are!” 

A blush rose in her cheeks, and she avoided his eyes, instead lifting herself up, angling her opening against his tip. 

He groaned deeply as the big, bulbous head slid inside her. “I’m not going to last,” he panted with gritted teeth, as he thrust hard up into her. The stretch was unfamiliar, slightly uncomfortable, and she was reminded that she had barely had sex since the birth, but the feeling soon subsided, and the slicked movements of his cock inside her soon felt good. _ Too good. He had to come before she reacted too much. Remember the plan, Hermione! _ she admonished herself. _ Pretend! _

“Oh, it feels so good,” she moaned, closely observing him beneath her lashes, moving her hips up and down, sliding up and down his long, thick cock, even clenching her vaginal muscles around him. 

He looked almost drunk with pleasure, but gave her a quick smile of surprised happiness, before his face contracted. With staccato breath, he groaned out “I’m coming, sorry, too quick, oh, Hermione, your wet cunt… it … feels … so… good!” 

Hips jerking, he thrust hard up into her, a fixed grimace on his face before he shuddered, and she felt hot liquid spurt out of him as his cock twitched inside her. 

Leaning forward, resting his brow on her chest, his breathing was heavy: “Gods, Hermione, I’ve missed this, you have no idea. I love you, I love you still, I’ve always done so. I know I’ve hurt you, but please, whatever you think of me, know that I love you.” 

He raised his head, face suddenly unguarded, looking younger than his years, and she couldn’t help giving him a small smile. 

“My sweet little wife,” he muttered, before rising up, her hips still straddling his. She gave off a small squeak of surprise, but he laughed, looking more carefree than she had seen him in the last weeks, and carried her to the bedroom, placing her gently down on the bed, before following her down, holding himself up on top of her, kissing her shoulders and neck again. 

He was warm, but so was she, and her own, unwanted arousal still coursed through her, making her arch into his touch, his chest hair tickling her her breasts. The insistent throbbing in her sex made her feel slightly panicky, because if this kept up, she wouldn’t be able to stave off a real orgasm. 

His head moved down, his mouth finding her left breast, and he sucked her nipple into his mouth, making her cry out: ”Severus!” 

He groaned against her breast, tongue licking around her nipple, before moving on to the other one, repeating the process. She almost whimpered, her hips starting to gyrate, and the strength of the desire flooding her felt terrifying. _ No, remember who he is and what he has done! _ Her mind tried to reason with her, but her body would have none of it, instead writhing on the bed as his mouth moved down, tongue trailing across her stomach. She felt him grow against her thigh again, becoming hard once more, and suddenly, her mind won out - _ remember the fucking plan - _, and she blurted out, fearing she would come instantly if his mouth touched her mound: “Please fuck me, Severus, from behind!” 

That particular position had seldom worked any wonders for her in the past, and she silently congratulated herself on her mind winning out against her traitorous body. He, on the other hand, had always enjoyed that position, and he growled at her, as he flipped her around: “Yes, I’ll fuck you, take your tight cunt from behind, little witch!” 

He pinned her down with his upper body, raising her hips and arse slightly, making room for one of his hands underneath her hips, and thrust into her from behind. The first thrust was rough, but this time, she was more than ready for his considerable size, slicked by her own arousal and his come. She was not, however, ready for the way he fingered her nub in time with the pumping of his hips. 

It was overwhelming, and to her horror, she realized, she was too far along. _ She was going to come around the cock of Severus Snape, traitor, murderer and loyal Death Eater. _

Gasping, she couldn’t help but grinding her clit into his fingers, the tingling shivers racing through in her sex, his rock-hard cock rubbing something inside that felt much to good. 

“I can feel it,” he panted, “you’re clenching around me, you’re going to come for me, Hermione, your cunt is already squeezing my cock!” 

“Oh,” she groaned, mind defeated by her body, “oh no, oh no, oh NOOO,” as her insides spasmed and convulsed around him, his hardness filling her up, tremors rolling in her belly as her orgasm thundered through her. For a moment, all she could see was a blinding, white light, and then she slowly came back to herself to feel him shudder above her, cock moving frantically, jerking inside her, before he stilled, collapsing on top of her. 

They both lay still, feeling their heartbeats slow, until he rolled to his side, bringing her with him to rest on his chest. She buried her face into his chest, feeling a mix of shame and bodily satisfaction as his come slowly seeped out of her abused pussy. 

“I mean it, Hermione,” he whispered into her hair, stroking her slowly, “I love you. This last weeks, seeing the hatred in your eyes combined with the way you’ve acted in public, has been so hard. Knowing that your public facade was just that, a mask hiding your true feelings for me, has been hell. And now, this... Can I believe that you don’t hate me as much as I thought, too?” 

Tears started to pool in her eyes, and a choked sob escaped her. “I should hate you, I shouldn’t allow you to touch me, I should most definitely not come for you,” she admitted. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t, at that,” he said resignedly. “Or, you could try to look past my actions, see if there was…” he stopped, saying brusquely: “Forget that. But remember, I love you.” 

Xxxx

Malfoy Manor looked like it could have been grand, once. Now, it was downright scary, like something of a horror movie. The great, hulking house was mostly dark, though faint lights flickered inside one of the wings. The grounds were eerily quiet, like all living things had fled, leaving it to things lurking in the gloom, and a rustle in the overgrown bushes made her look around warily. The gardens were neglected, none of the rose bushes blooming, though it looked like the thorns had grown to an impossible length. 

She felt herself shivering as they entered through the great, creaking doors, but Severus’ grip on her arm was tight, warm and comforting. He had reassured her, her mastery of Occlumency should be sufficient, unless the Dark Lord really wanted to crack her mind open. 

“_ And he won’t,” he had assured her before they left. “As I’ve told you, that would break your mind, rendering you a madwoman. If he feels the need to destroy you, he’ll have me do it, since he thinks witches are the property of their wizards. Barring a few, notable exceptions, of course,” he mumbled as an afterthought. Before leaving, she had hugged her son, like it would be the last time, making the small boy squeal, and on her coin, the last message still blinked from Ron and Harry: “Break a leg! You can do this.” _

She was as ready as she could be, for her performance in front of the Dark Lord. _ Not Voldemort, _ she reminded herself_, think of him as the Dark Lord. Don’t provoke him, whatever you do. _

Severus swept her along through broad corridors, lined with sneering portraits of long-dead Malfoys. _ The house must have been wonderful, once, but now, this perpetual gloom made it look dirty, run-down and sad. _Lights flickered feebly in sconces on the wall, but they didn’t manage to give enough shine to case the shadows away. 

At last, in a giant hall, the ceiling many floors above, they faced enormous, wooden doors, clearly signifying a grand ballroom. 

“The Malfoys used to hold receptions and balls quite frequently,” Severus remarked, “but of course, since the Dark Lord moved in…” he trailed off, but there was no need to continue. Hermione had no trouble understanding that the Malfoys weren’t any longer the masters of their manor. The wizard inside this room would be the supreme ruler of this place. 

The doors slid open, smoothly, and a garbed and masked Death Eater faced them. He took one look at them, and heralded their arrival in a loud, booming voice: “Headmaster Severus Snape with Madam Snape!” 

Upon entering, she saw it was some kind of a reception. The room was thronged with well-known Death Eaters in dress robes, as well as witches in beautiful gowns and robes. Suddenly, she was very happy for Severus insisting that she’d dress up for the occasion. Her own gown, made entirely of more or less see-through black lace and her black silk robe on top made her fit in with the rest. 

He had told her: _ Death Eaters always dress their wives nicely. To showcase one’s wife like one would a priceless work of art, is normal. No one will bat an eye because they can see your skin beneath the lace. _

Taking in the room, she could see he was somewhat wrong on that one. There were several male Death Eaters ogling her, though the females didn’t seem to give her any notice. What drew her eyes, however, was the tall, gaunt wizard sprawled on a throne-like chair in the middle of the room. 

Lord Voldemort seemed to be immersed in a conversation with a large, blonde Death Eater, while behind him, the wild-eyed, dark-haired Bellatrix Lestrange stood straight as a board, her eyes scanning the room like the most confident bodyguard Hermione ever had seen. 

As they drew nearer, Voldemort turned to them, and his thin, pale lips drew out in the grimace of a smile, yellow, cracked teeth showing: “Ah, Severus! And finally, with your young and, as rumours tell me, so very hot-blooded Mudblood wife.” 

“My Lord,” her husband said with a bow. “At last, here she is. Potter’s former friend, Hermione Snape, my devoted, _ loyal _wife.” 

The red eyes of the most feared wizard in Britain fastened on her, and he motioned them to get closer. “Madam Snape,” he said, and she curtsied deeply, whispering faintly, like she was awed: “My lord, you honour me.” 

When she had risen, Voldemort drawled: “Indeed, I do. There aren’t many Mudbloods in my ranks, and if you didn’t belong to Severus, you would have been in a rather ... less... fortunate position.” 

She paled, just like she suspected he wanted her to do, and stammered: “I understand. Please, allow me to do what little I can to further your cause.” 

“Really.” The word was cutting, razor-sharp, and as she looked up, she saw the keen intelligence in his eyes, incandescent red against his pasty, white face. “I believe you are very accomplished, by all accounts. I also heard you recently proved yourself against some former classmates.” 

At that, her head came up, and she stared defiantly at him. “I gave them only what they deserved, my Lord. They had no right to tamper with my husband’s prerogatives.” 

“Quite right, witch,” he said, and she felt Severus minutely relax beside her. _ He had told her beforehand, it would be a good sign if the Dark Lord called her witch instead of Mudblood. That would signify acceptance. _

“So tell me, what were you and Potter doing all year, before you returned to your rightful place?” 

She winced. “Before I saw the error of my ways, my Lord, we were wandering Britain quite aimlessly. Dumbledore had told Harry you might have hidden valuables that would help us win the war.” 

At that, the thin wizard sat up straighter, all laziness gone from his body: “What kind of valuables?” he demanded, eyes boring into her. 

“We had no idea,” she said calmly. “That’s why we were moving so much. We thought it might be a weapon of sorts, a magical artifact, and we broke into the Ministry to see if there was anything we could find.” 

Incredulously, Voldemort snarled: “You expect me to believe that Potter is on a wild goose chase through Britain, looking for something he doesn’t know what is?”

She shrugged, apologetic. “Dumbledore never told Harry. Truth to be told, Harry isn’t that smart. Maybe Dumbledore hinted at things that he never understood. That’s why you’ll win, my Lord. Harry has no brains.” 

“Not when you’ve left his side,” Severus intoned from beside her, and she gave him a small smile. 

“Be that as it may,” Voldemort said irritably. “Come here, witch, kneel by my feet.” 

She moved forward, kneeling, her black dress pooling around her, and a large, cold hand wrenched her chin up. There was no incantation, no wand movements, but suddenly, Voldemort was in her head. _ She offered up memories of hopelessly cold nights with no food, quarrels in the tent, the frustration because they had no idea where to begin. Feeling the Dark Lord’s attention begin to wander, she gave him memories, real and crafted, of herself and Severus. He looked with disinterest on their public displays, and with notably more interest on their sexual encounters, most of them crafted on their real encounters in the past, even replaying a few of them. With a small shudder, she noted that he chose to watch the rougher memories again. _

“I’ve seen enough,” he announced, pulling out of her brain, “it seems like Potter is more of a hopeless fool than I would have thought. Severus, you may keep your little wife. It seems like you’ve put her to very good use.” 

She blushed horribly, as the wizards in the room leered at her, someone shouting: “Good for you, Snape! I bet you showed that little witch how her place is underneath you!”

_ She had done it, tricked Voldemort. But she didn’t dare to let her guard down, and Severus had told her, part of why her Occlumency would work, was because the Dark Lord had no idea she had the skill. If he had known, he would have torn her defenses apart to get what he was looking for. _

“Severus, will you let your wife battle?” the Dark Lord asked, cocking his head. 

“Against whom? She’s valuable, my Lord, I would not want her damaged.” 

Her husband’s voice was cool, but she knew, he had been afraid for something like this to happen. _ An uncontrollable event, _he called it. 

“Oh, let’s pick one of our young recruits to give her an even match. How about Draco Malfoy?” the Dark Lord said carelessly. “That would bring a nice touch of real resentment to the duel.” 

Severus shrugged, like this wasn’t anything he’d worry about: “I believe she’ll trash that little bastard easily. She’s always been the best in her year.” 

Hermione’s head whipped towards him, but he gave her a confident look that made her heart swell. _ He believed in her. He really thought she could take down Draco Malfoy in his own home. _

Suddenly feeling boosted, she smiled a little, rocking on her feet, as she saw Draco extricate himself from the grasp of his mother’s fingers. Narcissa Malfoy looked haggard, and she was whispering to her son, obviously begging him to be careful. 

“All is allowed,” the Dark Lord said, picking at his nails, and Draco faltered in his steps. Beside her, Severus took a barely audible intake of breath, and she knew, he was nervous again. _ Everything, including the Unforgivables. So this was it, a fight for life or death. _

Squaring her shoulders, pulling up all her bravery and courage, she strode forward to meet Draco in opening that had formed in the crowd, leaving room for them to duel. “Hello,” she said loudly, “have you quite recovered from being carted out from the Great Hall in a wheelbarrow by a Squib? I wouldn’t want to bruise your tender sensibilities, you know.”

Draco almost snarled at her, but she kept still, but her feet were almost bouncing with energy. _ Energy… She had enough to work something difficult, to cast magic that would demand respect. Something to convince everyone she was the better witch, not to be bested by the Pure-blooded boy aristocrate, no matter her blood status. _

“Begin,” the Dark Lord drawled, and she formally greeted Draco, before casting an innocuous “_Expelliarmus_.” 

Draco sneered at her, deftly blocking it with a silent “_Protego,_” before lobbing a red, crackling Cruciatus towards her. 

She stepped quickly aside, the curse crashing into someone standing at the side - _ she thought it was Peter Pettigrew, the hit resulting in screams _ \- before casting a convincingly loud “_Diffindo_” at Draco. As it was mid-air, Draco being busy with preparing himself for the impact on his shield, she threw a hard, wordless “_Bombarda,_” blasting Draco into the throng of people. He groaned as the back of his head banged into the floor.

The crowd jeered at Draco, a tall wizard yelling: “Look how Severus’ Mudblood gives him a thrashing!” 

Anger and adrenaline surged up into her, and she knew she had to do something spectacular. _ Something that seemed cruel and nasty, but with no permanent damage to Draco. She had no wish to kill or maim. _

Draco lurched up, throwing a fairly strong “_Reducto_” that almost singed her before changing course, deflected from her _ Protego_. The bluish curse sailed directly towards the Dark Lord, while the crowd gasped. Lazily, the wizard on the throne raised a shimmering, white shield that pulverized the curse easily with a booming crash. 

Angrily, Draco sent another sloppy Reductor Curse her way, but after deflecting it again, she decided to end it. _ Severus was right. She could do this. _

Concentrating, she flipped off a weak Entrail-Expelling Curse, knowing that Draco’s attention would be on the rather nasty curse, but it wasn’t her focus. The Unforgivables were notoriously harder to work than other curses, but still, she cast a perfect “_Imperio_” at Draco. 

The curse hit squarely in his chest, and he blinked stupidly at the crowd. 

Hermione willed him to set a “_Sonorous_” at his throat, as he sank to his knees. “Dear Death Eaters,” Draco began. “I admit that I am the lesser duellant. I also want to apologize for being such a prat.” 

The crowd snickered, some even laughing out loud, seeing the Malfoy heir kneeling in his own ball room. 

As she let the Unforgivable go, Draco’s eyes snapped open in shock and rage, but she was ready, hitting him with a “_Incendio,_” setting fire to his robes. Crackling flames and thick smoke swirled around him, making the young wizard yell in fright, and then she doused him with a heavy “_Aguamenti,” _dumping what amounted to a small pond on his head. The flames sizzled and sputtered, before losing out to the water, and the wet, bedraggled young man sat till on the floor, expensive dress robes singed and tattered by her fires. 

There was a ringing silence in the room, before Voldemort started clapping. The crowd quickly joined in, and Draco rose, slinking away through the laughing mass of people. 

“Very good, quite inventive, girl,” Voldemort said to her. “A decent Imperius too. I would have thought a self-righteous little Gryffindor like you that would feel above using the Unforgivables, but clearly, Severus has taught you well.” 

Severus nodded, gracefully accepting the praise on her behalf, but his eyes flashed a warning to her. As they finally moved away from the Dark Lord, he whispered: “Stay close to me. Humiliation, Hermione, is a very powerful weapon.”

Shame for what she had done crashed through her, and she understood: _ Draco would be after revenge. Maybe his mother or his father too. _Tartly, she replied: “Yes, you should know,” thinking of how he routinely had humiliated the students. 

He cast a glance at her face, before replying: “I take care to wield humiliation as a weapon in smaller measures. Usually, I don’t ruin people’s reputation among their peers this thoroughly. It was well done, however. The Imperius gave it a nice touch. I’m sure you impressed most of them.” 

She had no answer to that, but as they walked among the Death Eaters, she also saw the respect they afforded Severus, and also herself. _ Mostly as his wife, but also because of the display she had given of her own power. _She brushed away the thoughts of what Severus must have done to achieve such a status among these villains. Staying on his arm, she smiled demurely at him, letting him show her off to the darkest wizards and witches in Britain, like she was a prized possession he’d showcase for his friends. 

“A feisty one, is she, Severus?” An older wizard dressed in flowing, black silk gave her husband a sardonic smile, and Severus nodded. Drawling, he said: “She is, Antonin. I can assure, you, keeping her under my thumb is a delight.” 

“I’m sure you’re enjoying yourself,” the old man chuckled, before he sighed. “To be young and virile again… You don’t know what you’re missing before it’s gone, Severus.” 

After a while, she noticed that several witches and wizards seemed to be wary around her husband. Some moved out of their way, giving polite bows, others chattered nervously, while some tried to gain favours from him. Several asked for potions or advice on bringing matters before the Dark Lord.

He listened to most of them and gave advice, getting profuse thanks in return. Though, a few didn’t get anything but his signature sneer. Those people hastily retreated, apologizing for taking up his time. 

“They are afraid of you,” she noted, after an older, rather posh-looking witch fled from them. 

“They are right to be,” he said curtly. 

“How so?” she countered, though she dreaded the answer. 

Turning to her, his eyes like burning coals, he hissed: “You know very well why, little witch. I am the slayer of Dumbledore, the Dark Lord’s lieutenant, his most trusted servant. And I can never allow them - _ nor him _\- to forget it.” 

She stared at him, lips parted, as terrible thoughts rolled through her mind. _ He was the consummate Slytherin, always vying for power, stopping at nothing to gain influence, and yet, at the same time, he was the man who loved her, who cared for her, who were hurt by her own indifference, who swore to protect her against everything, including his dark master. In short, it was confusing, though it shouldn’t be. He was obviously darker and much worse than she had ever thought, but still, he loved her. _

Faintly, she whispered: “Severus, please take me home.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Draco. *grins*


	10. True Allegiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rage shot through her like a burning arrow, setting her aflame. Sitting up in bed, she hit his chest, hissing as to not wake the baby: “God damn it, Severus! How could you do this to me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title says it all, doesn't it...? ;-)

Back at Hogwarts, in the bathroom, she flashed a quick message to Harry and Ron on the coin. _ I’m ok. V didn’t break mind. Duelled DM, won. Relax. _

The answer came amazingly fast: _Merlin! We're breathing again. _And then: _You go, H! Beating DM is your special skill. _

Hermione couldn't help chuckling to herself. 

She was sitting in the giant tub belonging to the Headmaster, a claw-footed, enormous thing with room enough for three people, with tiny, green bubbles covering the surface of the water, smelling of fresh springtime, green things growing and flowers. He hair was pinned up, and she tried to take her own advice, relaxing from the high adrenaline coursing through her, the relief making her too much alert, too awake. And, uncomfortably, embarrassingly horny, her sex tingling, making her want to rub herself. 

Leaning her head back, she let her hands roam over her breasts, circling her nipples, squeezing them slightly. She had nursed right before, to avoid the let-down reflex starting involuntarily by the warm water. Smiling, she remembered how her little son had squealed with happiness at seeing her, his little legs kicking, and those black eyes shining with joy - before he had remembered that he was hungry, and then started crying almost immediately. After she was done, Severus had put him to bed. Surprisingly considering his stern demeanour, he was a caring, gentle father, and her son seemed to bond with him. 

_ Ah, Severus… _ She pinched her nipple, and a shot of heat ran through her, making her moan. _ It was so wrong to want this man, this horrible, evil man, the one that even the Death Eaters feared. Still, it did something for her, something shameful, that this powerful man wanted her, loved her and protected her. It turned her on, and wasn’t that just a new level of fucked-up? _

Sliding her hand across her belly, touching her mound, she parted her folds, finding her slick opening. Gathering moisture, she spread it over her nether lips, dragging her fingers over her hard little nub. _ To be panting for a man like that, wouldn’t that make her a bad person? Spreading her legs because she desired a powerful man, no matter how evil he was could never say anything good about her character. Never mind, this was all in her head, and no one had to know she enjoyed sex with her Death Eater husband. Not even him. _

Rubbing her clit, she gasped, water splashing by the more vigorous movements of her hand. 

“Are you all right? I heard noises...” The deep, silky voice right behind her startled her, but then it was _ oh, so delicious that he had walked in on her touching herself, _and she moaned again, not stopping her movements. 

He paused, taking on what she was doing with a harsh intake of breath, and then he said, reluctantly: “Do you want me to leave, or…” he trailed off, before continuing, his voice lower and more husky: “...or would you like company?” 

_ She wanted him to join her, but this would be sex on her initiative, her inviting him to take her, instead of having sex with the purpose of tricking the Dark Lord. If she did this, she would _ ** _be _ ** _ that awful person, throwing overboard all her principles for an hour of passion. _

The thought of it made her gasp again, and she blurted out: “Yes, join me!” 

He must have torn off his clothes or magicked them off, because he was in the tub in less than a minute, crouching in front of her. His cock was bobbing over the surface, the head an angry red, and the veins protruding on his shaft. _ He was obviously just as turned on as herself. _

“Please, Severus, touch me,” she said, closing her eyes as the shame filled her for being such a traitorous, bad woman. 

“Oh, I will, little witch,” he muttered. Lifting one of her feet, he stroked it slowly, sensuously from the tips of her toes to her hip, before repeating the process with the other foot. When his hands reached her apex, he bent back the leg he was holding, spreading her out for him, making her nether lips gape, and his other hand trailed over her throbbing sex. 

She gasped. “It feels so good when you touch me down there,” retracting her hand from her sex, grabbing her breasts instead, as he explored her slick folds. 

“Down there…” he chuckled. “You always use euphemisms for your cunt, don’t you? Never pussy, never cunt or quim. Always sex, mound or ‘down there’. Say it, Hermione, tell me you want my fingers in your cunt, tell me you want me to play with your pussy.” 

She blushed fiercely, stammering: “I … I .. wasn’t raised that way, it was all very proper at home…” 

He smiled wickedly. “And yet, I know such words turn you on. You love it when I talk dirty to you, don’t you? When I tell you I love how my cock fill your wet, tight cunt and how much I like the taste of your dripping pussy.” 

“Yes,” she sighed, closing her eyes, cheeks burning with shame, “yes!” 

Arching up to meet his hands _ there, _ he suddenly removed them, making her whine with disappointment. “Please, no, I need it!” 

“Tell me what you need,” he said relentlessly, instead fisting his cock slowly as he looked at her, his eyes trailing a hot burn as they moved over her body. 

Closing her eyes, she whispered, half mortified: “Please, touch my pussy, Severus, I need you.” 

“How do you want me to touch you?” he said, his breath coming faster. 

“I want you to finger my nub, but I also need your cock,” she said, almost not believing that she uttered such words out loud. 

“Beg for it, tell me where you need my cock,” he said. 

“Oh, Severus,” she whined again, “don’t make me say it!” 

His slow chuckle was like dripping, pure, hot chocolate, and he said: “You love it. I know you do.” 

_ And she did. The humiliation of being forced to say such words felt strangely exciting, and a thought flew through her brain: He’s forcing me to be bad - like a … a … slut. _It triggered a rush of heat through her, and she whimpered with want: “Please Severus, I need your cock inside my wet cunt, and your fingers on my clit.” 

“Good,” he said, and his approval made her gasp. _ Not only hot for his power, but also his approval, _ a small, stern voice in the back of her head said disparagingly_. _She shook it off, as he took hold off her shoulders, moving her forward, and shuffled himself underneath her, settling her on his thighs with her back to his chest, his cock now bobbing against her stomach. 

“Lift your sweet arse, and sink your cunt down on my cock,” he instructed, and she obeyed. 

The tip sank into her easily, making them both groan, and she inched herself down, sliding his cock into her until he bottomed out. 

“Yes, that’s it,” he hissed, and she leaned her head back, as his hands snaked down to finger her clit. 

“Look,” he growled at her, “how your pussy lips are spread out by my cock.” 

Looking down, she could see herself spread out, his long fingers fondling her nub so deliciously. 

She held herself up on the edges of the tub, bouncing on his cock, and he groaned: “Yes, fuck yourself on me, squeeze your pussy around me, Hermione!” 

Clenching down around him, she felt him grow harder, like his cock stretched her out even more. He rubbed her clit faster, muttering to her: “Finding you like this, you dirty girl, touching yourself in my bathroom, turns me on so much. I’m going to come soon, fucking your tight cunt, making your pussy drip with my come.” 

She was panting, her desire cresting, and she fell over the edge, whimpering as her cunt squeezed his cock, spasming around him as her clit throbbed wildly. He groaned, before jerking up into her with a shout, his cock pulsing into her, shooting his come inside her. 

“Merlin’s beard, Hermione,” he muttered, breathing hard. “This was fantastic. You’re incredible, wife. I love you, but you already know that.” 

“I know,” she sighed languorously, feeling him shrink inside her. “This felt so good.” 

When she rose from the tub, however, her eyes fell on his Dark Mark, the black ink poisoning his pale skin, and she shuddered, revulsion at her own, sick desire taking over. 

Xxxx

The next morning, he woke her up by pulling her into his body. 

“Good morning,” he said with a lazy smile, those black eyes shining hopefully at her. 

The warmth emanating from him felt good - _ comfortable, like home _ \- but she swallowed nervously, croaking out a “morning.” 

She lay stiff as a board, and after a short while, he sighed. “What’s wrong? Do you … regret … last night?” 

Having no idea how to answer that, she just shook her head. _ Yes, she regretted her own reaction to him. Yes, she regretted having this wildly inappropriate attraction to him, a powerful Death Eater, an evil monster. Yes, she regretted the fact that even so, she couldn’t help trying to find redeemable qualities in him. But she didn’t want to tell him all this. _

Last night, she had cleaned up after sex, moving mechanically, going through the motions of goiing to bed, not saying much. Now, she would be confronted with her willingness, and he would expect _ more _from her. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to hurt him, either. 

Shrugging, she scrambled out of bed, hurrying to get to the bathroom before little Augustus woke. 

Xxxx

“Why aren’t you in class?” 

The voice was disembodied and slightly breezy, like a whisper through the empty classroom. 

Hermione had finally tracked down the Grey Lady, and the spectre floated in front of a window, the view of the grounds spectacular from the sixth floor. The mountains were blue in the distance, and the forests were a deep, mossy green, while the lake glittered in the pale sunlight. 

“I had a child, my lady,” she replied politely, indicating her son sleeping in his Floater beside her. 

“A child.” The Grey Lady swirled around to look at her, dissoluting her misty form for a moment as she moved with a dizzying effect, but then the particles of dust settled again into the shape of a sad but regal young woman. 

“I’ve seen you. You were such a clever girl, you should have been one of mine, a Ravenclaw. You are the Headmaster’s wife now. Why?” 

Hermione swallowed, meeting the searching gaze of the ghost in front of her. “He tricked me,” she said almost inaudibly. “He got me pregnant and married me, told me he loved me, and then he proved himself to be evil. To support the most evil of wizards.” 

A flash of pain moved over the spectre’s expression, and she sighed. “Always like that, an endless story. Young girls … falling prey. Like I did. I ran away, but he came after me. He found me, made me his by taking my body with force, and to cover his crime, he killed me.” 

Hermione stood still, blinking in shock, and the Grey Lady floated closer. Her lips tugged up, as she whispered: “Your husband, young woman, may not be what you think. I’ve seen him. He may not disappoint you as much as you think. Though he’s tricking you, as you said. For the betrayal you feel, I’ll grant your request. Yes, I know what you want.” 

“I came to ask for your help,” Hermione said softly. “To ask you to help stop the wizard who’s trying to take over our world.” 

I know whom you speak of,” the Grey Lady said darkly. “He tricked me too, once. He was oh so clever, so very intriguing. I know what you seek. It’s here, in my mother’s Come and Go Room. I will show you, to make reparations for my sins.” 

Xxxx

Trying to keep her son away from the damned thing, little Augustus stretching his small arms to get to the shiny diadem floating in the air beside them, she rummaged through Severus’ stores, looking for basilisk venom. 

“I know he must have secured something,” she mumbled. “He’d be mad not to, but _ where _is it, damn it!” 

Augustus cooed, and a burbling laugh left his mouth. 

“Yes, it’s pretty, I know, but it’s bad, Augustus, mummy can’t let you have it,” she said, the bottles clinking as she moved them to get to the vials in the back. _ There was no dust or grime here, everything was clean and clearly labelled in alphabetical order, but still, she hadn’t found anything under “B” for basilisk, nor “V” for venom or “P” for poison. _

“Whyever not?” 

Her husband’s deep drawl made her start, banging her head onto the shelf above her, making her whimper with pain, her fingers flying to rub her scalp. 

“Ouch! Do you always sneak up on people like that?” 

“Do you always steal from people’s private stores?” 

She blushed. “I’m not… I wasn’t…” 

“Of course not, because _ you _wouldn’t do such a thing, would you? Not now, and never in the past.” he said sarcastically. “And what are you doing with that?” His long fingers indicated the diadem. 

Thoughts flew through her head. _ He’s Voldemort’s lieutenant. This is a catastrophe! He cannot know, he’ll stop me! _

Her breathing came much too fast, and her mouth felt dry. “It’s … jewellery,” she said lamely. 

He snorted. “I’m not stupid, little witch. _ What _ are you doing with Rowena Ravenclaw’s lost diadem, and _ why _are you making a mess of my cabinet?” 

“You know what it is?” she said dumbly, but her husband rolled his eyes. 

“Did the portraits of Rowena escape your notice? I believe she wears it in every single one of them. After all, there are only _ three _of them in school. One in my office, one by the stairs, and one in the Entrance Hall. And you, my wife, have obviously found the real thing, the precious artifact lost for a thousand years.” 

“Umm,” she faltered, feeling panicky. _ How to salvage this, short of Stunning him? Besides, she’s never manage that. He was too quick and powerful - he’d overpower her. And attacking with her son this close, with the risk of stray spells, was not something she was willing to try. _Squaring her shoulders, she said: “Severus, you can’t stop me. This is too important. Just … leave me alone, will you? Please?” 

To herself, her voice sounded insecure and whining, but his eyes softened. “I can see you’re worried, Hermione. What’s so important to you about Rowena’s diadem? Why do you need ingredients this desperately? You could have asked me to find what you needed, you know. I’d given it to you.” 

“Basilisk venom,” she blurted out, trusting her gut. “That’s what I need.” _ It was a risk, telling him, but maybe, just maybe… At the same time, she berated herself for acting so rash. _

His eyebrows rose, but he stepped silently forward, swiping his wand over the topmost shelf, revealing a set of vials on the top, the contents a murky, sinister dark red colour. Picking one, he asked: “Will this be enough?” 

Feeling excitement bubble, she nodded, grasping it from his hand, pulling the stopper before pouring it over the diadem. A hissing sound and a cloud of steam emerged, the shape of the Dark Mark wriggling out of the diadem. 

The diadem writhed like it was alive, a keening voice escaping with a great cloud of dust bursting forth. Then came a sudden silence, before the diadem shattered into four parts, falling with a tinkle to the floor. 

August made a disappointed wail, before fiddling with his rattle instead. 

His face was shocked, his eyes blinking at her, as he mumbled “Was that…?” 

“It was … something,” she said evasively, “and now it’s gone.” 

“I know what it was,” he said, shaking his head, “I just never thought I’d see… How many are there left?” 

“I can’t tell you,” she whispered, “I can’t… I know you have to report it, I know you need to stop me.” 

“I don’t need to do any such thing,” he told her, looking intently at her. 

She shrugged, giving him a weak smile. “I don’t want to get you in trouble. You’ve chosen your side, and I’ve chosen mine.” 

His face darkened for a moment, before his shoulders slumped. Defeated, he said snippily: “True. You wouldn’t want to give up too much information to the great traitor, now, would you?” 

Hermione only shook her head, and Severus stormed off, in a cloud of billowing, black robes. 

Xxxx

That night, he took her again, rough, hard, bordering on violent. Gasping, she was pinned down by his weight, his cock pounding her into the mattress. 

“You … feel so good,” he groaned, burying himself balls deep in her, and she moaned in response. _ She lcouldn't help loving it, being subject to his strong body, her walls stretching to accommodate his deep thrusts. _

“Severus,” she moaned, “Kiss me!” 

His head came down, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, like he was pushing as much of himself inside her as possible. The kiss was fierce, passionate, and overwhelming her senses. 

Pulling back on his haunches, he snapped his hips into her, holding her harshly in place, one hand coming down to rub her clit, sending shivers through her belly, before her orgasm crashed over her, making her moan incomprehensibly: “Oh, Severus, take … me, you… I … oh, please … Merlin, oh ...yes!” 

Her cunt squeezed him, trembling around his cock, convulsing into long waves of tingling passion, and then he lost it, groaning, thrusting frantic, erratically before he spilled himself inside her: “Hermione!” 

Afterwards, she rested her head on his chest, him stroking her back gently, in contrast to the roughness he had shown her. 

“I love you,” he said quietly. “I know you don’t trust me, but you can. With everything. I’ll never betray you, never put you in harm’s way.” 

Sighing, she mumbled sleepily into his chest: “I want to trust you, but I can’t. I do believe you’ll never harm me, though.” 

“Please,” his voice was suddenly naked, anguished, “please, trust me. I know you can’t love me, but … please believe me, I’ll do anything - _ anything _\- to keep you safe.” 

_ Suddenly, it all clicked in her mind. The damned doe and the Sword, his Vow, protecting her against Voldemort, training her in Occlumency, his reluctance to harm her, his strange and inexplicable vulnerability, Dumbledore’s portrait behaving oddly, the Grey Lady’s mysterious words and now his need for her to believe his love, even going so far as destroying his own master’s Horcruxes. Severus Snape was on her side. It was the only logical conclusion. _

Rage shot through her like a burning arrow, setting her aflame. Sitting up in bed, she hit his chest, hissing as to not wake the baby: “God damn it, Severus! How could you do this to me!” 

“Ouch,” he grunted, hands coming up to restrain her, as she continued her assault with her fists. Holding her arms still, he whispered, his voice curiously intense: “Do what, Hermione, what did you think I did?”

“You let me believe you betrayed me, you git!” She gritted out, arms straining against his superior strength. 

“Oh.” He almost sank back, relieved, giving off a shaky laugh. “You finally cottoned on, did you?”

“Don’t laugh,” she growled. “Have you any idea of how painful the last ten months have been for me, you fucking bastard!” 

In the face of her anger, his face became humourless and blank. “No,” he said, “I don’t. I do know that my life has been hell, though. Everyone hated me, including my _ dear _ wife. And I couldn’t reveal the truth to her, no matter how much I wanted to.” 

“Why the hell didn’t you trust me?!” she shrieked, managing to free one arm, giving his chest a good shove. 

“You …” 

_ her hand rose _…

”could…” 

_ her palm connected to his chest _…

“have…” 

_ the resounding smack woke their son _…

“TOLD…” 

_ Augustus started wailing _… 

“**ME**!” _ … _

_ the last words came out as a screech. _

“Hermione,” he said, grasping her wrists as she struggled to hit him again, tears sprouting from her eyes, “Hermione, love. I couldn’t. I had promised Albus.” 

“He is dead!” she shouted over the cries of their son. 

“I know. I killed him, remember?” The pain was visible on his face, and Severus took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, his chest heaving. Releasing her wrist, pulling away from her to avoid further assaults, he rolled out of bed, lifting up their son, cradling him into his naked chest, mulling a lullaby softly in his deep voice. The baby calmed down, nuzzling into his father’s skin, and smacked his lips before falling asleep again, a content smile on his little face. 

She stared accusingly at her husband, emotions warring inside her. _ A bursting joy of knowing her husband was a good man, a devastating horror at his personal sacrifice, a bubbling fury that he hadn’t trusted her with the truth. Anger at herself for not seeing the truth earlier. _

“Hermione,” he started again, his voice a whispering rumble as he still rocked their son in his arms. “I promised Albus, I’d go deep in on the dark side. No one were to know I was still loyal to the Order of the Phoenix. After our marriage, Albus made me swear to keep the truth from you too, barring the fact if you found out by yourself. It was an Unbreakable Vow, Hermione. I had already given one to help Draco kill Albus, then this to Albus - and at last the one were I vowed to protect you. I’m sorry, Hermione, I wanted you to know, believe me, but Albus ordered me not to.” 

The pain was jarring. _ Had Dumbledore orchestrated this? Forcing her husband to kill him, to keep his true allegiance a secret? Had he decided that she, and her husband, would feel so much pain, and even putting her son in danger? _

A low growl escaped her, and she hit the mattress futilely, helplessly. “Fuck,” she whispered, mindful of the fact that she, Hermione Granger, didn’t _ swear _. “Fuck!” she repeated, a little louder, but stopped herself as Augustus made a small, cooing sound in his father’s arms. 

Groaning, she hid her face in her hands, massaging her temple. An ominous throbbing had started, like she was about to get a violent headache, and she dug her fingers into her skull, like she could dig the anger out of her brain. _ Her whole perception were shifting, and she didn’t want to believe Dumbledore had been so callous with her husband’s - and her - life. _Sitting still, trying to contain the tornado of inside her, she clutched her knees, hiding her head, listening to the pulse pounding in her veins. 

“Talk to me, Hermione,” Severus said, voice a little rusty. “Talk to me.” 

In the end, she lifted her eyes to his face, asking: “Why? How could he do this to you? Leave you … so … alone?” 

Severus shrugged, bitterly. “Everyone is expendable in a war, Hermione, and some more than others. My role is to protect Harry, and to impart something to him before the end. Me getting married, you and Augustus, were only bumps in the road. Harry is the one who’s important.” 

She drew a shaking breath. “I cannot believe that, Severus. Expendable… It sounds like something You-Know-Who would say. We’re supposed to be better, we’re supposed to care for people, not just … use ... them.” 

“I know,” he said soothingly. “Though it’s a matter of philosophy. Is it better to save a lot of people by sacrificing a few, or is it more important to save the few because you can? You and Dumbledore wouldn’t agree, I believe.” 

“What about you,” she asked quietly. 

“I agreed to sacrifice myself. What do you think?” he almost snapped, before rocking Augustus again, his gentleness not in accordance with his harsh words. 

Feeling dejected and disillusioned, like a veil had been lifted from her eyes, she sighed again. “I … I wish we could have been spared this,” she said sadly. “Though I’m happy, or rather relieved that you aren’t the great betrayer. Of our world, and me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! I figured Hermione would be really furious with him. ;-) 
> 
> Snape has a dirty mouth, doesn't he? I tend to write him like that. It's because he's so formal, repressing so much of himself in public, that I feel he has to let it out somewhere.


	11. Horcrux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I was afraid for you, worried sick for your safety,” she hissed, “while you were cavorting and drinking with the Death Eaters!” 
> 
> To her surprise, he smiled a little. It didn’t do anything to quell her rage, rather stoking it. 
> 
> “You were worried about me?” he said, eyes soft and warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful comments! <3 
> 
> A (little) fluffier chapter after all that angst... We deserve that, don't we?

The next morning, they had - by shared, silent agreement - taken their breakfast in their chambers. Hermione felt a little awkward, but she reasoned: _ having your whole worldview flipped around could do that to you. _

Severus, however, was happy, looking like a mountain had been lifted from his shoulders, wolfing down his breakfast like he hadn’t eaten in a month. With his shirtsleeves rolled-up and his hair slightly mussed, his dark eyes warm as he glanced at her - _ frequently _ \- he was the epitome of a relaxed, happy man having breakfast with his family. 

Guilt pressed down on her. _ She should have realized this before, why hadn’t she seen this? Wasn’t she supposed to be so smart? She knew him, she should have seen he wasn’t like that. She should have seen the pressure he was under. _

Trying to shake off that awful, nagging feeling of guilt and having wronged him, she broke the silence at last. “What are you supposed to tell Harry?” 

The knife and fork in her husband’s hands clattered to the table, and he looked straight ahead like he was witnessing some kind of internal nightmare, his face back into the grim scowl she had become so used to seeing, all the happiness leaking from his expression in an instant. 

Hermione swallowed. _ And now, she had even destroyed his good mood. Gods, she was awful… _

“He has to die,” Severus said heavily, staring at her, like he was challenging her. 

She gasped. “Harry? Merlin, no!” 

“He’s a Horcrux too.” 

Slowly, her eyes filled with tears, before she shook herself. “He’s not going to die,” she said firmly. “I’m going to make sure of it.” 

Severus shook his head in disbelief, before his face melted into a soft smile, eyes warming again with little crinkles at the corners as he looked at her. “I suppose, if anyone could change that, it would be you.” 

“It should make a total of seven Horcruxes, according to what Dumbledore told Harry,” she said pensively. “We’ve got control over the Diary, the locket, the diadem and the ring. Then there’s something from Hufflepuff, and...” 

Surprisingly, Severus offered: “I know what the last two Horcruxes would be.The two others are obviously Nagini, his snake, and Helga Hufflepuff’s cup. Bellatrix has got that one. She’s bragging about keeping an important heirloom belonging to Hufflepuff safe for the Lord.” 

Hermione blinked, before she smiled slowly. “So, we Imperio Madame Lestrange, get the cup and Obliviate her afterwards?” 

Her husband chuckled. “I suppose I should be happy _ you _haven’t joined the Dark Lord. But why not try it? Maybe Gryffindor daring will bring us further along. Why not let’s have her kill Nagini while we’re at it? Then the Dark Lord will kill Bella, and there’s one Death Eater less in the world.” 

“Who knows that Harry is a Horcrux?” she asked slowly. 

“You, me and Dumbledore’s portrait.” 

She scowled a bit at the mention of the former Headmaster, giving his portrait a good glare. _ Oh, he had it coming… Not yet, but she was going to research some interesting curses meant for oil and canvas. _

Thoughtfully, she said: “None of us are going to raise Voldemort again, and no one else will know it’s even possible. He’ll die when Harry dies, sometime in the future. Why not kill him, kill his other Horcruxes, and then he can just stay a spirit until Harry dies?” 

Severus shook his head. “He may become a spirit, but he’s a rather resourceful spirit at that. He may return on his own, like he did before.” 

Her shoulders sagging, she nodded. Her voice small, she said: “I don’t want Harry to die. How can we keep him safe?” 

At that, he stroked her hand gently, his eyes sad. “Believe me, I think Dumbledore would have found a way around this, if it was possible. He may have thought me expendable, but he cared for Harry. He would have kept him safe, at all costs.” 

“We’ll have to work on it,” she said. “I don’t want to believe it isn’t possible.” 

Xxxx

Severus had been gone for a long time to Malfoy Manor, and she knew there was to be a meeting, quite possibly a raid and a revel too. She couldn’t help but worry, though. _ What if he had been exposed? What if Voldemort had seen the destruction of his Horcrux in Severus’ mind? _

It was very late, and she was sitting on the sofa, nursing her son. He made happy little slurping noises, drinking from her breast, and she tried to take comfort from the small, warm body nestled into her torso, watching his wriggling, tiny toes. _ Severus had to be safe, he had to come back to her, and to Augustus. Now, when she knew his true allegiance, the pain of him leaving was almost unbearable. He was in danger, so much danger, and he had been so for years. One day, his luck would run out. _ Before, when she thought he supported Voldemort, she had seen him leave for Death Eater gatherings with displeasure and indifference, not thinking much about his safety. _ Now, on the other hand… _

Swallowing, she brushed away a stray tear, shifting Augustus in her lap. He was already blinking drowsily, and she stroked the thick, black curly hair on his head, feeling as if her heart would burst. _ Burst with the love for her son, burst with the fear of his father’s safety, her husband, her lover … her love. _ Just as she realized that her feelings were just that - _ love, she loved him again, maybe she had never really stopped - _the Floo flared green, and out stumbled her husband. 

His eyes were bloodshot, his clothes rumpled, and he was swaying on his feet. 

At once, she believed the worst - _ he had been exposed, they would have to flee Hogwarts, go on the run again - _and she felt her heart clench in panic, her breathing coming in short gasps. She was about to rise, when he spoke. 

Slurredly, he mumbled: “I‘s alright, jus’ piss’d.” 

All her fear and worry morphed into instant fury. _ He had been drinking and having a good time with Voldemort, while she was here, frantic with worry for him? _

Stiffly, she rose, walking straight-backed into the bedroom to put August into his crib. Tucking her son in, the little boy sent her a sleepy smile before closing his eyes, sending a stab of love through her heart, momentarily dispelling her fury. 

But as she turned from the bed, the anger was back with a vengeance, and she stalked toward her drunk and dishevelled husband, who now was slumped on the sofa, looking like he hadn’t a care in the world. 

“H’mine,” he slurred, giving her a soppy grin. That kind of expression looked extremely disturbing on his normally stern face. 

Silently, she opened the cabinet holding his store of potions, finding a vial of Sobering Potion. Her eyes were hard, when she held out the vial to him: “Drink.” 

He groaned, but complied, tipping the brownish content into his mouth. His eyes widened, and a small shiver coursed through his body, before he groaned again, one hand rising to clutch his temple. 

“Hungover potion,” he croaked out, stretching his other hand towards her. 

Still angry, she felt an urge to be so petty as to deny him, but she supposed, the conversation would go better if he was feeling well. 

Summoning a Hungover potion, the vial hurtled out of the cabinet, the door banging against the wall. The sound made him wince, and she smiled grimly. _ So much for not being petty. _

He gulped down the potion, and his body relaxed. “Ahhh,” he sighed, as presumably the headache and nausea left him. 

Sitting up, his black eyes were sharp and alert, studying her face. “What’s wrong?” he asked, taking in her stiff posture and the grim set to her mouth. 

“I was afraid for you, worried sick for your safety,” she hissed, “while you were cavorting and drinking with the Death Eaters!” 

To her surprise, he smiled a little. It didn’t do anything to quell her rage, rather stoking it. 

“You were worried about me?” he said, eyes soft and warm. 

“Yes, and you - you…!” Suddenly she stopped, staring at him. “Is that lipstick on your collar?” she hissed, one finger pointing, quivering at the offending red smear on his collar, and she could feel, her hair was emitting angry red sparks. 

“Oh, yes, I suppose so,” he said warily, and she could see he was inching for his wand. 

“_Incarcerous_!” the spell fell from her lips, and ropes shot out, restraining his arms. 

“Wandless,” he remarked, looking infuriating unruffled. 

“You attended a revel, drinking and cheating on me?” her voice was shaking with anger.

His eyes narrowed. “Do you really believe that?” 

She shrugged, responding bitterly: “Maybe.” 

He shook himself, a flare of magic lashing out at her spell, and he was free from the restraints she had created. For a moment, he seemed to be enraged, before his face smoothed into his usual, blank mask. “I owe you an explanation,” he said quietly. 

“I think you do,” she answered primly, crossing her arms under her breasts. 

“During the revel, I Cursed Rodolphus. He left for Gringotts to retrieve the cup, being under my Imperius,” he said matter-of-factly. “I had to make sure Bellatrix didn’t notice his absence, so I…” he paused, and her stomach clenched. _ What would he reveal? What had he done to conceal his actions? She knew, he was willing to sacrifice everything. Maybe even his love for her. _

“I… joined Bellatrix in a spot of torture. There were … Muggles. We worked together, and she was … happy. She kissed me. Nothing else happened between us, but now, those Muggles are dead. She killed them. And it wasn’t a nice death, Hermione. I … would have done this differently, if I could.” 

“Oh,” she said, her anger forgotten. “Oh. How many Muggles?” 

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Four.” 

Sitting down beside him, she stroked his arm, leaning her head into his body. _ Merlin, she had wronged him again. He had sacrificed so much, doing all kinds of unspeakable things to keep his cover, and now… _

Giving her a relieved glance, he sighed. “I also Cursed and Obliviated McNair. He’ll lop off the head of that damnable snake at the first opportunity with that great axe of his. Then, I started drinking. I wanted to forget…” 

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice anguished, “sorry for acting like this, for not believing you, but even more sorry for you having to do this.” _ It didn’t feel like it was enough just to apologize, but it was all she could do. _

“Yes, well… It did work, though.” He put his hand in his coat pocket, pulling out a golden object. “I’ve got the cup.” 

Xxxx

Grimly, they had set about destroying the cup. This time, what came out wasn’t only threatening smoke and wailing, but a cultured, though slightly hissing voice. 

It pounced on them, speaking simultaneously to them both. 

“Severuss… Hermione...”

The voice was oddly seductive, persuasive, the sound of it slithering through her mind, leaving a trail of dark slime in her thoughts, making her feel dazed. 

“Severuss, why do you insist on fooling yourself so? A pretty, ambitious young witch, the brightest in England has no use for an old bitter, ugly fellow like you. She’s going to leave you at the first opportunity, you know, shedding your marriage like the decrepit skin it is. A career and a young wizard, Severuss, to match her age and power, where you are in the way, my friend. Give her up, let her go. It would be doing her a service.” 

“Hermione, a wizard like him will never be satisfied with a plain Jane like you. He deserves a grown witch, a woman with power and confidence, not a skinny schoolgirl with social awkwardness who doesn’t know how to conduct herself in polite company. Don’t you agree, the Headmaster should have a witch by his side who won’t shame him with her youthful chattering and extraordinary lack of tact and finesse? Let him go, so he can find someone who’ll satisfy him.” 

_ It stung. Rationally, she knew the Horcrux was trying to save itself by making them turn on each other, but still … it stung. It was true, wasn’t it? Severus did deserve a more refined witch by his side, someone who could work with him in consolidating Hogwarts influence, someone who wasn’t a suspicious, distrustful wife, hurting him with her scorn. _

Feeling her heart squeeze, she momentarily felt like she should remove herself from Severus - _ right now, right away - _letting him find that beautiful, powerful witch that could take the rightful place by his side. 

Despair washed over her, like a flock of Dementors preying, and she glanced at Severus. His stern expression, clenched jaw that left the corners of his mouth white just _ proved _ how true those words were. _ Poor man, he’s been looking for a way out of this marriage for ages, and then I insinuated myself back into his life… _

Her lips quivered, ready to say the words to revoke their marriage vows, when a wailing sound broke through the hypnotic daze. 

“Waaaah!” It was Augustus, and they both started, like they were shocked out of their inner turmoil. Severus drew a shaking breath, before he quickly, decisively, poured basilisk venom over the cup. 

The unearthly shriek of rage stopped suddenly, and the silence was ringing in their ears. 

“Gods,” Severus breathed, “it almost made me… The Dark Lord is a master in Mind Magic, has always been, really...” He stopped himself short, stealing an ashamed glance at her, but she only nodded. 

“Me too,” she whispered, before turning to their son, lifting him up, cuddling him close to her chest. Severus' arms came around them both, holding them into his chest.

“You saved us, little one,” she mumbled, “you saved us.” 

Xxxx

“I think it’s about time you meet Harry,” she said, her voice hoarse, as she nestled in his arms. It was a week after the Hufflepuff Horcrux had been destroyed, and now, Nagini had been killed, resulting in Macnair’s fairly horrible death. The Dark Lord had - as Severus put it - been _ quite _creative in his punishment. She didn’t want to ask, because Severus had looked almost haunted when he told her, adding: “I … actually felt sorry for him. Merlin knows, Macnair har done his share of awful things, but this…” 

She had drawn Severus into her arms, kissing him to take his mind of matters, ending in with long, slow lovemaking. 

He snorted. “What makes you think young Potter won’t try to kill me on sight?” 

“Me,” she said confidently. “Harry listens to me. Your time has come to tell him, because he’s the last Horcrux left.” 

“While I agree to you being very persuasive,” he said doubtfully, “I should think Potter hates me enough to go against your wishes.” 

Listening to his heart thump in his chest made her feel relaxed and safe, and she said drowsily: “I can handle that. I need to tell them about you before you reveal yourself. We can even show them memories, if you’d like.” 

He chuckled lazily, stretching his long body a little, before enveloping her in his arms again, nuzzling into her hair. “Memories of what? Of you and me? Doing what? Some of that might be a little shocking to the boys’ tender sensibilities, don’t you think?” 

Laughing, she swatted his arm lightly. “Not _ that, _ you silly! Though it shouldn’t be a surprise, they know we are married.” 

Thinking about what they had just done, she could very well imagine the disgust and shock if Harry and Ron were shown how she moaned for her husband. 

_ The boys had found it difficult even before Severus had killed Dumbledore, and now, it was even worse. Through their coin communication, the boys had asked, if he had forced her into “anything,” as they had put it. She had answered “I agreed. Necessary to fool LV.” and the response was: “That bloody bastard!” _

_ As for what they had just done, well… She had been on her back, him crouched above her, his mouth buried between her legs, and her mouth locked around his cock. _

_ Gasping around his shaft, she squirmed by the delicious sensations his tongue gave her. He was lapping at her opening, tongue sliding between wet folds to her clit, swirling around it, causing little jolts in her belly. _

_ Her own tongue massaged the rock-hard cock thrusting lightly into her mouth, and as she tipped her head back even more, she took him deeper into her mouth, making him growl against her sex. _

_ “Gods, yes,” he groaned, “let me into your throat, swallow me down.” _

_ Feeling a naughty thrill, she obeyed, gaping even wider, and he slid into her throat. Convulsively, she swallowed around him, making him gasp, thrusting more vigorously into her mouth. _

_ His tongue laving at her clit, she felt her own tremors starting, climax building up, and as he thrust a long finger into her hole, she came, moaning around the big shaft lodged in her mouth, legs trembling as her pleasure crested, waves crashing through her. _

_ “Merlin,” he groaned against her, licking eagerly at her slit, and then he thrust hard down, cock jerking in the tight confines of her throat, and he spasmed, shooting his release. She swallowed around him, and he shuddered with an unrestrained growl of pleasure. _

_ As he pulled out, her throat felt sore, like she had been shouting for a long time. _

Almost feeling her face warm up by the thought of what they had done, she cleared her throat. “We could show them the destruction of the diadem,” she suggested. 

He shrugged. “Wouldn’t convince them, I think. Memories are a good idea, though. I can … show them the moment when Dumbledore asked me to kill him.” Looking down at her, he said slowly: “Though, I want you to know, this was before Dumbledore knew anything about you and me in 1978. The reason I turned against Voldemort, was because he was about to kill my childhood friend. Potter’s mother.” 

“Oh,” she said, wondering why he thought it necessary to tell her this. 

“It’s because… Dumbledore knew I loved Lily. He just … didn’t know I loved her as a friend, not like a … woman.” 

Blinking a little, she asked: “You let Dumbledore believe you loved Harry’s mum?” 

“Yes,” he said stiffly. “I didn’t want to tell him about you.” 

“Me?” Bafflement coursed through her, making her feel slightly dizzy. “Me? You had met me just that one time…. You don’t mean… Surely, Severus, you didn’t…”

He swallowed. “I’m afraid I did, Hermione.” His voice was very soft, as he continued. “I’ve told you before. You were the light in the darkness, the hope in my life for all those long years. I wanted to … go on, continue, just for the chance of meeting you again. I’ve … loved you. For the longest time, Hermione. It has always been you for me.” 

Her breath caught. “Severus… The time travelling…” 

“I’d do everything to get to you, Hermione. Even breaking the laws of time.” 

She swallowed. “Have you visited yourself, yet? I mean, to tell yourself how to send me back?” 

“No. I believe I must have been older,” he said thoughtfully. “At least, I looked like I was.” 

She brightened. “That’s wonderful, Severus!” 

“How so?” he asked. 

“It means, you’re going to survive the war!” 


	12. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I love you,” he muttered, “I love you. But do not even attempt to take part in this battle, or else I’ll…” 
> 
> “You’ll what?” she said defiantly. “Rise from your early grave to spank me?” 
> 
> By that, his mouth tugged into a small smile, and he said: “Something like that, Madam.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this story! We're almost at the end. Almost...

“Stay Disillusioned until I say so,” she admonished for the last time. “Don’t come barging into the conversation.” 

“Yes, Madam Snape,” he said with a wry grin. “I’ll do as you say.” 

Standing on her tip-toes, she kissed his freshly-shaven chin. “There’s a first time for everything,” she mumbled with a smile. 

_ His revelation the night before had stunned her. But true to his nature, he had also told her: “I idolized you, Hermione. In my mind, you became perfect. Then, of course, it all came crashing down when a certain small, eleven-year old Know-It-All presented herself in my classroom. You were a child, insufferably bossy, and not the woman I had envisioned.” _

_ “Sorry I couldn’t live up to your expectations,” she said snidely, feeling as if he had just said she wasn’t enough for him, not what he had wanted. _

_ “Oh, but you do,” he said with a chuckle. “You grew into it, into the witch of my dreams, but that child…. No, it was good for me to meet the real you. The real woman you became. You know I love you.” _

His words had made her feel better, because she didn’t really want to be loved like an infatuation based on a fleeting encounter in the distant past, a perfect picture of a dream girl, preserved into his fantasies. She wanted him to know and love _ her _, and she believed him: He did love her as Hermione Jean Granger Snape, Know-It-All extraordinaire. 

Taking a deep breath, she said: “Ok, let’s do this. Let’s tell Harry and Ron the truth. And please… behave.” 

“To the point where they’ll believe you’ve put me under the Imperius,” he said, arching an eyebrow at her, looking infuriatingly smug. 

“That’s right. No sarcasm, no belittlement,” she said, pointing her finger at him, but her smile were fond. 

Xxxx

“Merlin, Hermione … you look … good.” The question in Ron’s voice almost made her wince, and she knew, they expected her to look like a battered, beaten girl. No matter what she had written to them on the Charmed Galleon, the boys would continue to believe Severus were abusing her in the worst kinds of ways. 

“And you look much too thin,” she said, tears forming in her eyes. The boys were still gaunt, eyes too large in their faces and their jawlines too sharp. In short, they looked hungry and dirty, clothes hanging loosely on their bodies. Wincing at what the boys had gone through on the run, she pulled out sandwiches, made by the House-elves for her ‘picnic.’ 

Harry stretched out a bony hand, grabbing a sandwich, wolfing it down even before he said “hello,” and for a while, the only sound was the boys munching the delicious, fresh-baked bread. 

The forest around them was dark, forbidding, the great canopy of leaves shutting out the evening light. The hard-trodden ground was moist, and the boys had a small fire crackling, giving off a smoky scent of burning pine. 

“How are you, _ really_?” Harry said after a while, eyes looking searchingly at her. 

“I'm fine. _ Really,” _ she said, nodding to the questioning eyes of her two best friends. “He treats me well.” 

Ron snorted. “He just want to…” and he made a rude movement with his hand. 

“That too,” she said unflappably, “but he’s also supporting me, taking care of me. And you, too, in his own way.” 

Harry shook his head. “No, Hermione, don’t let him mess with your head. You’re much too level-headed to buy into such tripe. Remember, he killed...” 

“...Dumbledore, I know,” she finished the sentence. “On Dumbledore’s own orders. It’s true. His portrait confirmed it to me. Dumbledore set this up, and Severus is on our side.” 

The outcry lasted for several minutes, and she sat down, patiently waiting for the shouting to end. Predictably, Ron’s face was puce, while Harry was deathly pale, large green eyes shining harshly against the pallor of his skin. 

As the yelling died down, she said calmly: “Are you all finished? I want you to listen to me. Severus Snape is on our side. It’s true, and I’ll swear an Unbreakable Vow to you.” From behind her, she heard a rustle, knowing that Severus was as surprised as the boys. 

Standing up, she extended her wand, saying: “I, Hermione Jean Granger Snape, swear on my life and magic that Severus Tobias Snape supports Harry Potter, and killed Albus Dumbledore on Dumbledore’s own orders. If it isn’t so, then my life is forfeit.” 

There was a stunned silence, and then she shrugged. “See? I’m still here. He’s innocent.” 

“But why?” Harry croaked out, looking almost green in his paleness. “Why would Dumbledore get himself killed like that?” 

“You might as well explain yourself, Severus,” she said over her shoulder, and the boys stiffened, bodies immediately crouching into combat stance. 

Severus rescinded his Disillusionment and stepped forward, one hand warm on her shoulder. “Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley,” he said warily, his deep voice rumbling in the sudden silence. 

Both boys had their wands out, but Hermione snapped: “Down with those. He won’t harm you, and I won’t let you harm him.” 

“Ok,” Ron said, eyes locked on Severus, but he slowly lowered his wand. Looking at Harry, he tugged at his wand arm, whispering loudly: “Lower your wand. Hermione made a Vow. I can’t see how it’s possible, but it is.” 

Harry’s wand arm shook, but he too lowered his arm. 

“Explain,” he said, pushing his black hair out of his face, eyes hard as he fixed them on Severus. 

Severus slowly held out the Pensieve, and Ron stepped forward, taking it. The swirling mist inside was pearly, translucent, shimmering bright in the dark forest. 

“I keep watch, you go first,” Ron told Harry. 

Harry stepped forward reluctantly, before dipping his head into the bowl. 

The minutes ticked past, and her anticipation had her stomach in knots. _ Would Harry be convinced? _Beside her, Severus shifted, and she knew he was just as tense as herself. 

Ron stood, hands in his pocket, looking wary and uncomfortable. After a long while, he said: “So… How’s everyone at Hogwarts?” 

She knew, Ron was trying to make polite conversation, but Severus stiffened, opening his mouth. _ Obviously, he took this as a barb. _Quickly, she nudged his arm, and he shut his mouth with a snap, swallowing convulsively. What came out instead, was: “As well - or as bad - as could be expected, Mr. Weasley.” 

“Oh.” Ron looked, if possible, even _ more _nervous by that statement, and he started rocking on the balls of his feet: back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. 

Suddenly, with a gasp, Harry emerged from the Pensieve, staggering backwards. Panting hard, he turned to Severus. Conflicted emotions flitted over his face, and he gritted out, said grudgingly: “I suppose you _ are _on our side, after all.” 

Tension left her in a big whoosh of breath, and Ron paused in his incessant rocking. “Are you sure, Harry?” he said doubtfully. 

“Yes,” Harry said, “as sure as one can be with one such as _ he.” _

“What do you mean by that?” she demanded, protection surging in her. 

Harry’s shoulders slumped. “I mean,” he said tiredly, “he’s not only fooled the whole wizarding world, he’s damn well gone and fooled Lord…” 

“Don’t say his name!” they all shouted, and Harry winced. 

“...I mean _ him_,” he concluded. 

“You’re right, Potter,” Severus said, voice harsh. “It’s no mean feat, to deceive the greatest Legilimens in Britain, possibly in the world. Still, you know my motivation, and you know I love my wife. I would never bring her harm. I also cared a great deal for your mother, as you saw.” 

Harry’s eyes flitted quickly to her face, and he nodded. 

“You also saw Dumbledore’s message,” Severus continued, his voice softening. “I vowed to protect you, and it pains me to be the messenger. You may not believe me, but I do not wish you any harm.” 

“Harm? What harm? What’s he talking about, Harry?” Ron’s voice was anxious, and he grabbed Harry’s arm. 

Harry looked down on his worn trainers, shaking his head. “I’ve told you, I’ve been wondering if I’m meant to survive,” he said softly, voice very quiet. 

Ron gasped, and a small breeze made the trees rustle around them. 

“Now I know I’m not,” Harry’s voice was very small. “Dumbledore told him, and…” 

With a sob, she surged forward, embracing her friend, Ron engulfing his smaller friend from behind. Together they stood, cradling Harry between them, and he leaned his head down on her shoulder. Her robes became wet, and though Harry made no sound, she knew he was crying. 

Xxxx

Much later, they were sitting around the small fire, Severus having returned with even more food for them. 

“So, all the Horcruxes are gone, then, thanks to you two,” Harry said, his voice much lighter than the topic warranted. “All that is left, is _ him.” _

“Yes,” Hermione said. “We need to make a plan. I think we should try to lure him somewhere, without all his followers, and then we could attack him, all of us. We could shield you, and trying to knock him over, while you…” 

“...try to kill him, as he kills me,” Harry said morosely. 

Severus shifted beside her. _ Oh, he had been on his best behaviour, with only slightly barbed comments, but she knew from before, he hated this plan. _

“Hermione,” his voice was a rumbling warning. “You can’t join in.” 

“I want to,” she said defiantly. 

“Augustus…” he began, but she interrupted him: 

“...needs his parents, both of them, and that’s why we both need to fight, to maximize our chances for winning. If we don’t win, he’ll be worse off.” 

Surprisingly enough, Ron chimed in, supporting her husband: “Hermione, you should be far away from this, with Augustus. Don’t make him an orphan, make sure you can escape with him if you have to.” 

“No,” she said vehemently, ready to launch into a long argument on why she was meant to fight, when Harry suddenly crumpled, clutching his scar. 

They stared in shock as he whimpered, curling up, and then he straightened, panting. “He knows. He forced contact, he’s coming to Hogwarts! Snape, he knows you’ve betrayed him too!” 

Xxxx

The next half an hour was a blur. 

“The wards of Hogwarts won’t hold him for long,” Severus explained, looking pained. “He’s too strong and vily. We need to set the fight in a place that will minimize the danger to the students. Somewhere on the grounds, perhaps. Maybe in the forest.” 

“In the Chamber of Secrets,” Harry said. He looked so calm, so composed, like he had accepted what was going to happen in a short while, and Hermione’s heart felt like it was cracking open for him. 

“I’ll go down in the Chamber, with you, Professor, and Ron,” - _ his eyes went to Hermione, giving her a small wink, like Harry knew she wouldn’t be able to stay away _\- “and we’ll make our stand there. The rest of the teachers will have to protect the students from whoever else he brings along.” 

So it was, Severus smuggled them inside, and as Harry opened the Chamber, Severus strode into the Great Hall, Hermione on his heels. It was dinner time, and the whole school was assembled. 

Severus whipped out his wand, and casually, he cast in a loud voice: “_Avada Kedavra!” _

The green lightning flashed dangerously out of his wand, splitting in two, and the Carrow twins tipped forward, facedown in their dinner plates. 

A shocked gasp, even some screams rose from the students and teachers, but McGonagall rose courageously from her seat, saying with narrowed eyes: “Really, Severus, keep your Death Eater fights outside of school, will you? This is not something our students should see!” 

“They are about to see much worse,” he muttered darkly, and by that, McGonagall brought out her wand. 

Seversu just scoffed, and cast “_Sonorous” _at his throat. 

“Students and teachers,” he boomed, “the time has come for all guiles and facades to fall. Harry Potter is here at Hogwarts, and he’s ready to fight Lord Voldemort. Voldemort is coming, and the fight will take place in the Chamber of Secrets. Teachers, you will shield and protect your charges from harm. I will join Potter and Weasley, and together we’ll attempt to take down the Dark Lord. Students, keep safe, don’t attempt to engage any Death Eaters. Hide, ward and lock all doors, windows and chimneys.” 

By that, he was moving again, robes billowing behind him as he grabbed Hermione’s arm, marching her out of the Hall, and shocked whispers rose behind them, until a young student’s voice rose over the fray, thin and reedy, with a panicked shriek: “You-know-who is coming HERE?!” 

Outside, he backed her into the wall, giving her a hard kiss. 

“I love you,” he muttered, “I love you. But do not even attempt to take part in this battle, or else I’ll…” 

“You’ll what?” she said defiantly. “Rise from your early grave to spank me?” 

By that, his mouth tugged into a small smile, and he said: “Something like that, Madam.” 

His face grew serious again, and he said intently: “Whatever you do, keep Augustus safe. Whatever you do, keep my son away from the battle, you hear me wife?” 

Feeling more than a little rebellious, she realized, he was both very right and very much wrong. _ It was true, Augustus needed at least one of his parents, and she couldn’t leave his safety to anyone else. Still, she knew she had to join the battle, but Severus needed to leave, now, to make sure he was in the Chamber when Voldemort arrived. _

Therefore, she kissed him, whispering: “Alright, love, be safe. Go, before he comes.” 

Xxxx

Bundling a newly fed Augustus close to her body, wrapped in a cloth, she Silenced her son, sneaking out of the Head’s Chambers under the Disillusionment Charm. 

The school was very quiet, all students gathered in their Common Rooms, with the teachers ready to protect them. 

SIlently, she stalked the halls, moving down to the second level, heading to a classroom close to the girls’ bathroom with the entrance to the Chamber. 

Taking great care to mask both her magic, sound and smell, she waited, planning to enter the Chamber after Voldemort. 

Suddenly, the castle shook with an almighty crash, the stones groaning, making her son howl silently at her chest, and she knew: _ He was here. Voldemort had torn down the wards of Hogwarts. _

Not long after, she heard footsteps ringing through the corridor. _ It sounded like the footsteps of doom, reverberating through her skull like the tolling of a bell. _Her breath came fast, and she clutched her baby to her, trying to take comfort from the small, warm body. 

“You will wait here, and kill whoever tries to escape,” a sibilant voice hissed, and she heard two voices mumble agreement. 

Then one of them spoke, a deep, female voice: “My Lord, surely we’d be more useful trying to weed out the little rats infesting this school? Hunting students and teachers?” 

“No! You’ll stay here, taking care of business if Severus or that little blood traitor tries to escape.” 

“Sure, my Lord,” a third voice - a male - said diffidently. 

There was a rushing sound, and somehow, she knew Lord Voldemort wouldn’t be satisfied with sliding down the hole above the sink. _ He’d be flying, or something like that, _ she thought, _ sliding down a pipe would be beneath him, narcissist that he was. _

But those Death Eaters lying in wait… She could take them out. Slowly, soundlessly, she stepped out of the classroom, seeing a tall, burly man slouching against the doorframe to the girls’ bathroom, and another shadow pacing restlessly within. 

_ Dolohov. And if she wasn’t mistaken, the witch would be Bellatrix Lestrange. _

Feeling her lip curling in distaste, she felt a small twinge in her scar from the Battle of the Ministry, though by now, it was almost invisible. 

Deciding to shoot first and ask later, she gathered her magic. Thinking about what these people would do to her husband, her son, her friends and herself, her rage bubbled up in her, growing, fanning angry licks of flame into a roaring monster. _ They would torture her child, kill her husband, murder Ron and celebrate Harry’s death. As for herself, they’d torture, rape and enslave her, use her brutally, before they killed her. _The rage grew, and she didn’t stop it, building her fury into a volcano, lava pooling at the edges of her being, compressing her magic so tight inside that she felt like her skin bulged, almost glowing into incandescence, roiling, boiling, bouncing underneath her skin, her wand arm shaking with power as she lifted it, pointing her wand at the big Death Eater at the door. 

The eruption came with a silent screech: _ “Avada Kedavra!” _

Green light flashed, and Dolohov slumped, sinking down his knees, before folding over, his brow thumping into the slates of the floor. 

“What, Antonin?” Bellatrix whirled around, looking surprised, but Hermione was there for her - again, this woman would torture her husband and son, kill her friends, slaughter herself - it was _ just _ and _ fair _ to take her out first: “_Avada Kedavra!” _

The green lightning shot towards the dark-haired witch, but she jumped aside, screaming “_Bombarda! _” in Hermione’s general direction, forcing her to raise a shimmering Protego. 

“I’ll get you, whoever you are,” the wild-haired witch chanted in a sing-song voice. “I know you’re there, student or Order member?” 

A silent, vicious Revulsion Jinx almost crashed into Hermione, making her palms sweaty with fear. _ What if she had lost her wand? What if Bellatrix Lestrange got hold of her son? _ Anger surged again, rising up like a tsunami inside, and she screamed again: “_Avada kedavra_!” tilting her wand just so to send the curse sideways into the room. 

This time, there was no escaping the broad strike Hermione levelled at the dark witch, and the green flash cut a swathe across the room, neatly hitting Lestrange in the chest. She too buckled over, falling on the floor. 

At Hermione’s chest, her son rustled, his little nose burrowing into her skin. 

Hermione felt sweaty, warm, and her limbs were shaking, like she had exerted herself. _ Exerted herself too much, like she wouldn’t be able to cast again for days and days. Like she had only a remnant of her magic left. Or a remnant of her soul. _

Down from the chute, she heard bangs and flashes, great rumbling noises as if the rock was moving, the earth itself groaning. 

Spidery cracks appeared in the flooring, widening quickly, and the castle started shaking, like the bedrock itself were under attack. 

Staring open-mouthed at the scene - _ the cracks now inches wide, an inky blackness pouring out _ \- Hermione wetted her dry lips. _ Gods, Severus was down there, battling Voldemort with Ron and Harry. What was happening? _ As the castle swayed and groaned, sudden, ice-cold dread slid down her spine. _ Would Hogwarts come down over their heads - what about Augustus? _

Torn between rushing to help her friends, she shouted: “_Accio broom!” _

Down in the hallway, a cabinet slammed open, and an old broom rattled towards her. Gripping it midair, with confidence like she was Victor Krum himself, she swung her leg over it, kicking off from the swaying ground. Augustus squirmed against her, and she patted his back with her wand hand. Hovering above the now broken floor, she could see bits of the bathroom starting to collapse, falling into the abyss underneath. 

A thundering crash from below made her flinch, almost falling off the broom, and the bathroom disintegrated before her eyes, falling down into the now gaping darkness beyond. 

For a moment, she hovered still, her heart galloping at a furious pace, and then a massive dust cloud emerged from the hole, but the castle seemed to stand. 

Casting a Bubble-Head Charm around her and her son, she flew slowly towards the great, yawning maw that had used to be the girls’ bathroom on the second floor. 

Everything was completely still, and then, from below a desperate voice called: “Is there anyone there? Help!” 

_ It was Ron. _

Xxxx

Later, she wondered how she had found the courage to fly into the murky abyss, but down she went. 

A dusty, almost unrecognizable figure stood at the bottom, peering up. 

“Where’s Severus, what happened?” 

Her voice was a breathy croak, and Ron started. 

“Hermione?” his voice was full of wonder. “I can’t see you…” 

“Sorry,” she said, lifting her Disillusionment Charm. “I was in hiding.” 

“Good thinking,” Ron said automatically. 

“Where’s Severus, and what happened?” she repeated, noting that her voice was shriller. 

“Voldemort... He’s dead. The statue of Salazar Slytherin fell on top of him,” Ron said, his voice broken. “Harry … he’s dead, I think, or at least he’s not moving.” 

“Severus!” she urged, impatience warring with panic inside. 

“He’s … He made the statue fall, Hermione. He’s underneath it too. I’m sorry, Hermione, he can’t be…” 

But she was off, broom shooting ahead, weaving in and out of the great chunks of rock barring the tunnel, until she emerged into the former Chamber of Secrets. 

It would never be secret again, as the wall to the outside har collapsed fully. The murky water from the lake was seeping into the cave, now lapping to find a new shoreline. A veritable mountain of rocks were forming a barrier, hindering the water in flooding the chamber. Still, the water pooled rapidly into a growing pond. 

On the stone floor, still clear of the water’s edge, Harry lay unmoving, deathly pale, and she sobbed, breath hitching, but her heart beat frenzied in her chest. “Severus…” she whispered as tears pooled in her lashes. 

_ But no, she was better than this. Hermione Granger Snape would not let the body of her beloved husband lie in the same pile of rocks as Voldemort. She would not let panic overwhelm her. She would bring her husband’s body home. _

Clutching her wand, she cast - voice much more steady than she’d think - “_Point Me Severus Snape.” _

A green glow rose underneath the edge of a large rock, and before she knew, her broom had taken her there. Still hovering in the air, she forced her tattered remains of power and will together: “_Wingardium Leviosa!” _

With an audible groan, the giant rock became airborne, and the still, bleeding form of her husband underneath it became visible. Her wand arm shook with the effort, sweat running in rivulets down her back, and she could feel her breathing was becoming restricted, harsh, like the power she forced herself to use was siphoned from magical core, making her physical body feel like she was running for her life. _Running for her life, and failing. _

Jumping off the broom, forgetting she was metres above in the air, she sprained her ankle landing on the wet, slick stone floor. Whimpering with the pain in her leg, straining her magic by holding the rock up, feeling like it would slip and run out at any moment, she limped over, taking hold of Severus’ feet, dragging him with a tremendous effort away from the hovering rock. At her chest, her son squirmed, his small face scrunching up, readying himself for yelling. 

Just as she had gotten his head clear, her spell splintered painfully, ricocheting back into her like a bullet - _ she could feel the damage in her magic, ripping her open - _and the rock dumped down with a loud thud, splashing water metres high into the chamber. 

Wet, bedraggled and almost fainting with exhaustion and pain, she kissed her husband’s still face, letting her tears flow over his sickening pale skin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffie, sort of? Sorry! *grins*


	13. The Minister's Husband

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spell was fairly easy, turning her wedding ring into a Time-travelling Portkey. Taking a deep breath, she activated it, feeling that sickening pull through time, before landing in the dungeons, in his office, staggering on her feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading The Headmaster's Wife! 
> 
> I had so much fun writing this, and I'm very thankful for all your comments, your kudos, subscriptions and bookmarks. I hope you've enjoyed the story too. 
> 
> A small scene in this by the request of WikiMe - maybe not quite what you asked for, but a version of it. ;-) 
> 
> And here at last is the final chapter.

The door slammed behind her, shutting out the sounds of people talking and laughing. Finally, she was alone in her new office, taking a small break from the loud din from the reception. _ The Minister’s office. She was Minister for Magic, she had reached the peak of her career at forty. _

Now, it was time to act. She could feel a reverberation in her bones, like a tremor in her soul, like a premonition, like fate, building up to this moment. _ Though, she didn’t believe in fate. She believed in herself. She was about to make her future happen. _

_ But first… _

Taking a deep breath, she looked around in the opulent office. There it was, right in front of her new mahogany desk. She would see him every day from her comfortable, plush desk chair. Her mouth curled at the corners. _ It would be good. _

“Hello Albus,” she said softly. The portrait blinked nervously at her. 

“Yes, I’m going to work the curse here too,” she whispered. “I don’t want your advice. Not then, not now, not ever.” 

“Wait, please…!” The old man’s voice was anguished, broken. 

But she didn’t wait. 

_ “Lingua deleo.” _The Tongue-Eraser curse fell from her lips, just as easily as it had all those years ago in her husband’s office, the chambers he had inherited, where he had been so desperately unhappy, thanks to the machinations of the man in the portrait in front of her. 

Albus Dumbledore glared balefully at her, his two portraits now Silenced forever. By this curse, Hermione had put an end to his influence in the Minister’s office too, just like he had been cut off from participating in the going on’s at Hogwarts. _ Never let it be said that Hermione Granger Snape was a forgiving witch. _

Smiling grimly, she knew it was time for her to take care of the past. The feeling had been growing for the past week, that it was time - _ definitely time - _ and she would have to act. Tonight, she had come prepared. Hermione had been adamant, Severus deserved his happy ending, but _ she _was the one who could make it happen. 

In the aftermath of war, she had read extensively about Time-travel. While it was certainly possible, everything also pointed to the fact that meeting yourself would be catastrophic, no matter how noble your intentions were. Therefore, Severus just _ couldn’t _ have met himself back in 1997_. It was impossible. _He could, however, have been tricked to believe he had visited himself. 

Opening her dainty, elegant clutch, the silken bag so much larger on the inside than it seemed from the outside, she pulled out two phials, one containing a murky brew, the other a single long, dark hair. 

The Polyjuice was expertly brewed, like always, and she plopped the long, black hair into the potion. Bubbling for a moment, it turned a deep, moss-green colour, streaked with black. 

Lifting the phial to her mouth, she downed it decisively. The pain started immediately, tearing through her body, making her grow, becoming taller, larger, her arms and legs elongating, stretching, her torso widening, while her hair grew shorter, the curls disappearing, turning into lanky black strands. 

Breathing deeply through her nose, she smiled at the mirror in front of her. “Well, hello there,” she breathed, voice coming out so much deeper than her own. 

The black eyes of her husband looked back at her, and she couldn’t help grinning at how he looked in a too-small green dress and a black silk robe. The grin looked odd on his face, and the resulting giggle sounded even stranger. Transfiguring her clothing and Disillusioning her jewelry, she cleared her throat, trying out his usual, stern, impassive expression. _ There. That was it. And now for the big test: Could she fool the spymaster himself? She knew his mannerisms and ways of speaking so well, but would _ ** _he_ ** _ take the bait? _

The spell was fairly easy, turning her wedding ring into a Time-travelling Portkey. Taking a deep breath, she activated it, feeling that sickening pull through time, before landing in the dungeons, in his office, staggering on her feet. 

_ It was late at night, and in front of her, a young Severus was sitting at his desk. Young - as in younger than herself, now. He had obviously been marking papers, but now, he held his quill in his hand, mouth open, as he stared at her. At himself. _

_ “Good evening,” she said, carefully modulating her voice. _

_ He blinked, replying equally carefully: “Good evening.” _

_ “You must know what I’m here to tell you,” she snapped, doing her best impression of him in full snark mode. _

_ Nodding, he barked, equally ill-tempered: “I have an inkling, yes. Don’t you know the dangers of visiting yourself? This could unravel the very fabric of time.” _

_ “Look who’s calling the kettle black,” she mumbled, arching an eyebrow haughtily. “Or maybe it didn’t occur to you, I - we - might have found a way around this?” _

_ “I certainly hope so,” he said. “Go on, tell me. How do I send her back?” _

_ She proceeded to explain the spell, enjoying the way his eyes grew. In the end, he breathed reverently: “I will actually be able to make that happen. To make her visit … me.” _

_ Feeling her heart soften, seeing the happiness in his eyes, she almost fell out of character. Her snarky, bad-tempered teacher, never showing her an ounce of kindness, had actually cared so much for her, before their relationship had began. Oh, he had told her, but this - witnessing it - was a completely different thing. _

_ She felt almost bad for continuing her mission. “You will feed her a Fertility Potion the moment she has returned from the past,” she ordered. No, she didn’t like to trick her young self, but she knew, without the pregnancy, she’d never have entered a relationship with Severus. And she had to ensure the birth of her son. It wasn’t like she was taking the high moral ground here, but without the Potion, she knew her future past would have been wildly different. _

_ “What? No, that’s… That’s not something I would want to do. Really, a Fertility Potion? That will make her...” young Severus said, looking thoroughly flustered. _

_ “Oh, you will. Use the Fecunditas Potion. Don’t ask questions,” she barked, “just do it! In my future, you already did, and this is a vital part of creating our future. Don’t mess this up,” she commanded, using his most disdainful tone, narrowing her eyes threateningly at him. _

_ He narrowed his eyes back. “You’re something of an arse, aren’t you?” _

_ “Yes, people have been known to say so,” she said, aiming for keeping her face straight, though she almost burst out laughing. “Just do what you’re told, for once, if you know what’s good for you.” _

_ By that, the Portkey glowed blue again, she having set it at a maximum of fifteen minutes, and she was tugged back into her office. _

Downing the second phial she had brought, she experienced the aching, painful feeling of returning to herself, thankful for the recipe of one Severus Snape concerning an antidote to Polyjuice. 

Breathing hard, she stared into the mirror, seeing Minister Hermione Jean Granger Snape clad in a too-large black robe. Huffing, she Transfigured her clothing back into her party-wear, correcting the escaping curls from her bun with a flick of her wand. _ The Minister was back in control, after a short break for maybe twenty minutes in her own office. _

She opened the door to enter the fray once more. 

Xxxx

The antechamber, Transfigured into a much larger reception hall for the occasion, was filled with fluttering candles, hundreds of people in colourful dress robes, talking, gesturing and mingling with flutes of champagne in their hands. Most of all, they were _ politicking. _Ministry workers, Wizengamot members, ambassadors and influential business people and various Wizarding NGO leaders chatted, made deals and tentatively reached out to potential allies.

She smiled, knowing exactly how a change of Minister shifted all power alliances and collaborations, not to mention the opportunity it created for sworn enemies to join for new causes. Picking a floating flute from the air, she nodded, feeling contented. _ She had just secured her future and her son's life, and now, she could enjoy her big night of celebration. The hard work of being Minister could wait until morning. _

Moments after emerging from her office, she was the eye of the storm, everyone observing her, calculating how to approach her to get their bills proved, their causes on the budget or just a leg up on the ladder of society. Still, not everyone dared step forward to her. Those who did, either knew her well enough, had enough power on their own - or - they were just plain foolish. _ Because they all knew Minister Hermione Granger Snape was not a witch to be trifled with, and woe to those who dared to waste her time. Some people even claimed she had more than a touch of darkness to her, and that it was wise to be wary of her anger. _

Looking at the sea of people, only the tall, dark-haired man at the very end of the room captured her gaze. _ He was so handsome, with silver at his temples, his face still stern and forbidding, expression bored, though he had more laugh lines crinkling the corners of his eyes than before. Severus still looked as good as they got, _ she thought, and she sent him a mischievous smile, nodding to him. 

His eyes lit up at the sight of her, a fire lightening up from within, darkness smouldering as his gaze dragged over her body. _ She knew, he had been looking forward to take the Minister to his bed tonight. Everyone in the room would beg for a moment of her time, but he was the only one who’d reduce _ ** _her _ ** _ to begging. And suddenly, it couldn’t wait anymore. _

As she started to weave through the crowd to get to him, stopping here and there, a polite smile plastered on her face, hiding the tension of the deep tingle between her legs, she had to stop at Harry and Ron’s side, as a Ministry’s PR officer imperiously dictated an improvised photo shoot. 

“The Minister in the middle, yes, that’s it, and put your arms around each other’s shoulders_ . _ Yes, that’s it, now SMILE!” the small, bossy woman barked, before her camera gave off a loud bang and a puff of smoke. Hermione knew, Harry and Ron hated this as much as she did, but it was necessary, _ important _ , even. The Golden Trio reunited on Hermione’s big night as the new Minister, Harry as the Head of the Auror Office, and Ron as a respected businessman, being the strategic and financial genius behind the world wide success of George’s ‘Weasley Wizard Wheezes’. _ The public would love those pictures, and Hermione knew, it was never too early to start planning for her re-election. _

Turning her smile on, beaming at the camera, she waited impatiently for the photographer to do her job. _ Gods, she needed Severus, craved him, right now. Just as much as she had always done. Just as much as she had since the night she had almost lost him. _

_ Xxxx _

_ Back in the Chamber of Secrets, all those years ago, there had been something of a miracle happening. At least, that’s how she saw it. As she cried her heart out, Severus’ blood from his still form pooling into the creeping waters, making a terrifying, pink tint in the encroaching lake, she had felt a faint flutter of breath against her cheek. _

_ Gathering her last strength, she had Levitated him into a sitting position on the broom, flying as fast as she could, passing a yelling Ron, up, up, into the dusty corridor, straight to the Hospital Wing. _

_ After delivering Severus into Madam Pomfrey’s capable hands, she knew no more, collapsing herself. _

_ The convalescence for both of them had taken weeks. She, almost burnt out from magical exhaustion, and he, having to regrow far too many of the bones in his body. _

_ Still, it didn’t matter. Harry was alive too, having escaped death, telling everyone a cock and bull story about a train station and Dumbledore. She didn’t believe that at all, but politely, she had humoured Harry, nodding to the insanity of the story he so reverently told. _

_ Overnight, they had become heroes. Severus and herself were swamped by letters of apologies and admiration, making her husband grumble reluctantly that if he had known the level of insanity among witches especially, he’d never opt for survival. Her fame had been the kickstart of her political career, now making her now the youngest Minister in four hundred years. _

Xxxx

Finally, _ finally_, she had made it through the crowd. 

“Minister.” He dipped his head at her, his deep voice like a warm caress, making her sigh. 

“Headmaster,” she replied, equally formal. Widening her eyes, a sign to ask him to invade her mind, she almost trembled as he slid inside her thoughts. Whispering silently to him, communicating directly to his mind, she made the question seductive, slow: “_ Will you take me here? Please?” _

His breath caught, though his face remained impassive. “_ Anytime you want, my dear. Everywhere you want to.” _

_ “Follow me into my office. Wait for two minutes before entering, and then you’ll find me. On my desk. ” _

_ “I see. The Minister wants to christen her new office, just like the little tramp she is.” _His lips quirked slightly. 

_ “That’s right, Headmaster. Your Minister is very, very naughty.” _

Hermione felt flushed, her breathing almost heavy, and between her legs, slickness pooled, awaiting _ him. _

Severus nodded at her, a strange happiness that _ she _ belonged to him fluttering over his face, and she turned around, making her way across to her office again, talking, sliding away from conversations with a ruthless efficiency of a politician who knew _ all _the tricks. 

Just outside her office, she smiled to her son, who was chatting up a young female Auror on guard duty. Shaking her head at him, he just rolled his eyes in answer. _ Oh, Augustus had become a charmer, all right. A tall, dark-haired Slytherin, with curly black hair, whisky-coloured eyes and a passion for Potions, he was well on his way to achieve a Mastery - and using his good looks to entice witches of all ages, having numerous, short-lived relationships. _

Hermione wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but the witches seemed to be happy and the inevitable break-ups had proved to be unusually amiable. She supposed, it could have been _ worse_. Her son was intelligent and smart, polite and with a good heart, caring and supportive of his friends, so it stood to reason, he had to have some faults. Sleeping around as a young man was perhaps not a crime, but still, as his mother, she hoped he’d someday _ settle_. Meeting a different girl on the stairs every weekend was a bit … tiresome. 

Slipping inside her office, she took a deep breath, before Vanishing her silk knickers. Leaning her arse against her desk, she almost moaned as silk of her dress rustled, dragging over her skin, making her tingle in anticipation, the lace of her bra rubbing over hard, aching nipples. _ Oh, Severus… She hoped, he wouldn’t be long. _

After a few minutes, he entered, meticulously locking and warding the door. 

“Augustus saw me,” he said, hands in his pockets, looking oddly nervous, like he felt he was caught red-handed. 

Hermioen snorted. _ Her husband hated it, whenever their son realized that his parents had sex. Well, with how Augustus behaved, she didn’t think he’d begrudge his parents a bit of fun. _

“Come here, Headmaster,” she said huskily instead, opting to make Severus forget about their wayward son, who would be busy trying to seduce the Auror on the outside. _ Well, she and Severus knew how to defend themselves. The Auror could have her moment of fun too, Hermione wasn’t about to tattle to Harry about his subordinates' behaviour. _

“As my Minister commands,” he answered, stalking towards her, black robes trailing after him. 

“Headmaster, I’ve been bad. I’ve lost my underwear on the way.” 

“Indeed. Such things can’t go unpunished, Minister,” he rumbled, a small smirk curling around his lips.

Biting her lip, she peered up at him. “Will it be bad, Headmaster?” 

“Very bad. Turn around, and I’ll show you how I treat my naughty wife, Minister.” 

It felt like her blood was pounding in her veins, something heavy unfurling in her belly, making her pant slightly. Slowly, she turned around, hitching her robe and dress up to her waist, bending forward on the dark, pristine desk. 

A large, warm hand caressed her buttocks, dipping in between her legs, and he tutted. “So damp, so soaked, Minister. You have been bad indeed. I’m _ quite _sure, a Minister shouldn’t act like such a wanton little thing.” 

She shivered as his warm hand drew back, and a hard _ smack! _ landed on one cheek. 

“Count, _ Minister,” _he hissed. 

“One,” she offered up, her pulse thudding, and her sex throbbed in time with the slight pain on her arse. 

_ Smack! _

“Two,” she gasped, feeling the stinging in her skin grow. 

_ Smack! _

“Three!” _ Oh, how she adored him, the only man who’d ever dare to do this to her, the only man she’d ever trust enough to do this, the only man she’d ever want to spank her. The only man she’d ever respect, the only one who was her equal. _

_ Smack! _

“Four!” Her clit positively ached, and she wanted to rub herself. 

He murmured something inaudibly, darkly, but from the tone, she knew he was appreciating his hand prints on her arse. 

_ Smack! _

Her voice was a broken moan: “Five!” 

_ Smack! _

“Ow, six!” He was spanking her harder now, laying more force behind his arm, and _ oh gods - _she needed that. 

_ Smack! _

“Seven! Sweet Merlin,” she almost whimpered, her soaked sex almost dripping for him, and she undulated her hips, trying to appease the ache in her pussy. 

“Keep still!” he growled, gripping her hip with one hand. 

_ Smack! _

“Eight!” She could hear him, he wasn’t unaffected, his breathing heavy behind her. 

_ Smack! _

“Nine!” 

“Yes, Minister, take it,” he growled behind her, “take it all, from _ me.” _

_ Smack! _

“Ten!” she sobbed, feeling like she’d rub her nipples into the hard surface of her desk, clenching her vaginal muscles, doing anything to relieve the feverish arousal. 

The sound of his belt buckle clinking behind her made her almost sag in relief, and as his warm body suddenly pressed into her sore arse, she could have cried from happiness. 

“Please, Severus,” she whispered, as his hand guided the big, hard cock to her opening, sliding past it from the copious amounts of wetness between her legs. 

“Merlin, Hermione,” he said reverently, rubbing his cock into her slickness, making her whimper as he hit her hard clit, “you’re so sopping wet, I could just rub myself on you like this until I came all over your pretty pussy.” 

“Gods no, please, take me instead, fill me up,” she moaned, her hole already clenching around the emptiness she longed for him to fill. 

“I will, my witch, I will,” he muttered, but still, he kept sliding through her slit, bumping her clit with the head of his cock, making her writhe. 

Feeling almost frustrated, like she couldn’t _ live _without him filling her up, she arched her back, bucking against him, until he laughed. “You’re so impatient, my sweet. Oh, you’ll get what you want from me, like you always do. I can’t ever deny you.” 

Guiding his cock again to her opening, he finally pushed inside. She gasped, as always feeling the stretch when he entered her, and as he slid home, she groaned. “Severus, please, fuck me hard. Fast.”

He grunted in response, big hands firming around her hips, and started moving, hips snapping into her, smacking against her abused arse. 

“Is this hard enough for you,” he snarled, leaning forward over the desk, his cock pounding her into the desk. 

“Oh, yes,” she garbled, sneaking a hand down to her waiting clit, rubbing herself. The delicious friction of his large girth hammering her, and her own hand rubbing her clit, made her body tense, clenching around him, her cunt gripping the hard flesh spearing her, and her body tingled - flash fires running in her belly and sex - driving her higher, making her rut back at him to keep up the punishing pace, before her orgasm was upon her, making her wail: “Severuuus!” 

“Minister,” he growled, pumping erratically into her, his whole body curling possessively over hers: “_my _Minister.” Stiffening, his movements became frantic, jerky, and then his cock grew even harder, like he was even bigger than before, and he groaned, half-choked, fingers clutching her hips bruisingly hard as he pumped out his seed inside her. 

Xxxx

Later on, after they had cleaned up, sneaking outside again, she noted, the Auror guard and her son was gone. 

With a spring in her steps and a genuine smile on her face - though her arse was achingly sore in a _ good _way - she greeted the new Italian Ambassador and his wife, chatting politely about the possibilities of exploring more trade opportunities between Italy and Britain through the European Magical Union. 

Severus stepped up to her, bringing her another flute of champagne. She gave him a big, thankful smile, before turning to the couple in front of her. 

“This is Severus Snape, renowned Hogwarts’ Headmaster,” she introduced him. The Ambassador greeted him with interest, and his pretty wife smiled at him. “I believe we’re sending our eldest daughter to your school in September,” she said excitedly. “It’s so nice to meet you, Headmaster. We’d love to talk to you about how our little Julietta can adjust to a British school.” 

“Oh no,” her husband corrected them, something warm shining in his eyes as he looked at Hermione: “You see, not tonight. Tonight, I’m not the Headmaster. I’m just the Minister’s husband.” 


End file.
